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Who cannot make his likeness fit,
Must take a glass to help his wit;
Because, 'tis said, Madeira wine
Will sharpen wit, or make it shine,
Just like a shaving in a blaze, or
A hone or strap, will whet a razor,
But I'm in hopes to drive my waggon,
Without the help of glass or flaggon,
If you'll allow six horses strong
To drag my simile along.
Doth not a jury's foreman seem
Just like the fore-horse of a team?
Where e'er he leads, up hill, down hollow,
The rest can do no less than follow.
The judge the driver may resemble,
With whip in hand, to make them tremble,
To lash them well with points of law,
Should they presume to GEE or HAW;
Or stand stock still, or change their station,
Against his honour's inclination.

Quoth Didius, stop!—you drive so fast,
You'll find yourself bemir'd at last.
Can things inanimate compare
With those that living creatures are?
A mere machine be found at all
Like a self-moving animal?
A horse hath each essential part
Like us—as brains, and lungs, and heart;
Hath tendons, sinews, muscles, nerves,
And each an equal purpose serves
In him and us—th' intent the same,
Nor varied ought in form or name.
Philosophers of nice discerning
Have search'd the very depths of learning,
And held the most profound disputes
About the mortal souls of brutes;
Yet cannot to this hour determine
What animates the meanest vermin.

Some will insist, that each dumb creature
Is ruled by th' instinct of his nature;
That what they do is done of course,
Not by volition, but per force;
Nature impelling them to do
What looks like reason at first view:
But, what's this instinct, what their mind,
No metaphysics yet could find.
Whilst others boldly reason thus;
That brutes have souls as well as us;
That when a horse remembers where
He has been fed and nurs'd with care,
His memory is the same with ours,
The same in kind, tho' not in powers:
Aver a dog can form a project,
And argue shrewdly in dog logic,
And shew more wisdom in his plan,
Than an untutor'd stupid man;
Will say, the lowest of our race
Should to the best of their's give place:
Reason with instinct blending so,
That none their real bounds can know.
But I shall not presume to say,
In this dispute, which should give way.
Doubtless there many cases are,
Where men with brutes may well compare.
But mere machines cannot at all
Be liken'd to an animal;
Nor can a man, unless in drink,
Say clocks or juries ever think;
Their movement may deceive our eyes,
And look, indeed, like something wise,
But 'tis—and such is Adrian's notion,
A foreign force that gives them motion,
Deriving all their power to budge
From gravity of the earth or judge.
So that, altho' your simile's bold,
I find the likeness will not hold:
Besides, you first a waggon brought,
Alledging it was like my thought,
And now attempt to shew, which worse is,
A jury's like a team of horses;
You've chang'd your ground, artful indeed,
But tho' your labour can't succeed,
At least we thank you for your rhyme,
And wish you luck another time.