Yet _what World_ would not cheerfully _endure_
The _Torture_, or _Disease_, t' _enjoy_ the _Cure?_
_This Booke's_ the _Balsame_, and the _Hellebore_,
Must _preserve bleeding Nature_, and _restore_
Our _Crazy Stupor_ to a _just quick Sence_
Both of _Ingratitude_, and _Providence_.
That teaches us (at _Once_) to _feele_, and _know_,
_Two deep Points_: what we _want_, and what we _owe_.
Yet _Great Goods have their Ills_: Should we _transmit_
To _Future Times_, the _Pow'r_ of _Love_ and _Wit_,
In _this Example_: would they not _combine_
To make _Our Imperfections Their Designe?_
They'd _study_ our _Corruptions_; and take more
_Care_ to be _Ill_, then to be _Good_, _before_.
For _nothing but so great Infirmity,
Could make Them worthy of such Remedy.
Have you not scene the Suns almighty Ray
Rescue th' affrighted World_, and _redeeme Day_
From _blacke despaire_: how his _victorious Beame_
_Scatters_ the _Storme_, and _drownes_ the _petty flame_
Of _Lightning_, in the _glory_ of his _eye_:
How _full_ of _pow'r_, how _full_ of _Majesty?_
When to _us Mortals, nothing_ else was _knowne_,
But the _sad doubt_, whether to _burne_, or _drowne_.
_Choler_, and _Phlegme, Heat_, and _dull Ignorance,_
Have cast _the people_ into _such_ a _Trance_,
That _feares_ and _danger_ seeme _Great equally_,
And no _dispute_ left now, but _how_ to _dye_.
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