Could she thus act, unless some Power unknown,
From matter quite distinct, and all her own,
Supported, and impell'd her? She approves
Self-conscious, and condemns, she hates, and loves,
Mourns, and rejoices, hopes, and is afraid,
Without the body's unrequested aid:
Her own internal strength her reason guides,
By this she now compares things, now divides;
Truth's scatter'd fragments piece by piece collects,
Rejoins, and thence her edifice erects;
Piles arts on arts, effects to causes ties,
And rears th' aspiring fabric to the skies:
From whence, as on a distant plain below,
She sees from causes consequences flow,
And the whole chain distinctly comprehends,
Which from th' Almighty's throne to earth descends:
And lastly, turning inwardly her eyes,
Perceives how all her own ideas rise,
Contemplates what she is, and whence she came,
And almost comprehends her own amazing frame.
Can mere machines be with such pow'rs endued,
Or conscious of those pow'rs, suppose they cou'd?
For body is but a machine alone
Mov'd by external force, and impulse not its own.