TO THE Reverend Mr. B. Rowe. 'Tis Dangerous to follow the Multitude. I. ROWE, if we make the Croud our Guide Thro' Life's uncertain Road, Mean is the Chase; and wandering wide We miss th' Immortal Good. Men live at random and by Chance, Bright Reason never leads the Dance; Whilst in the broad and beaten Way O're Hills and Dales from Truth we stray, To Ruin we descend, to Ruin we advance. II. Wisdom retires, she hates the Crowd, And with a decent Scorn Aloof she climbs her steepy Seat, Where nor the Grave nor Giddy Feet Of the Learn'd Vulgar or the Rude Have e're a Passage worn. III. Meer Hazard first began the Track Where Custom leads her Thousands blind In willing Chains and strong; There's not one bold, one noble Mind Dares tread the fatal Error back, But Hand in Hand our selves we bind And drag the Age along. IV. Mortals, a Savage Herd, and loud As Billows on a noisy Flood In rapid order roll: Example makes the Mischief good: With jocund Heel we beat the Road Unheedful of the Goal. V. Me let some Friendly Seraph's Wing Snatch from the Crowd, and bear Sublime To Wisdom's lofty Tower, Thence to survey that wretched Thing Mankind; and in Exalted Rhime Bless the delivering Power.