The ATHEIST and the ACORN. 

MEthinks this World is oddly made,
 And ev'ry thing's amiss,
 A dull presuming Atheist said,
 As stretch'd he lay beneath a Shade;
 And instanced in this:

Behold, quoth he, that mighty thing,
 A Pumpkin, large and round,
 Is held but by a little String,
 Which upwards cannot make it spring,
 Or bear it from the Ground. 

Whilst on this Oak, a Fruit so small,
 So disproportion'd, grows;
 That, who with Sence surveys this All,
 This universal Casual Ball,
 Its ill Contrivance knows. 

My better Judgment wou'd have hung
 That Weight upon a Tree,
 And left this Mast, thus slightly strung,
 'Mongst things which on the Surface sprung,
 And small and feeble be. 

No more the Caviller cou'd say,
 Nor farther Faults descry;
 For, as he upwards gazing lay,
 An Acorn, loosen'd from the Stay,
 Fell down upon his Eye. 

Th' offended Part with Tears ran o'er,
 As punish'd for the Sin:
 Fool! had that Bough a Pumpkin bore,
 Thy Whimseys must have work'd no more,
 Nor Scull had kept them in.