Though appetite raise outcries at the cost? A man of the town dines late, but soon enough, With reasonable forecast and despatch, To ensure a side-box station at half-price. You think, perhaps, so delicate his dress, His daily fare as delicate. Alas!
He picks clean teeth, and, busy as he seems With an old tavern quill, is hungry yet! The rout is Folly's circle, which she draws With magic wand. So potent is the spell, That none, decoy'd into that fatal ring, Unless by Heaven's peculiar grace, escape. There we grow early grey, but never wise; There form connexions, but acquire no friend; Solicit pleasure, hopeless of success; Waste youth in occupations only fit For second childhood, and devote old age To sports which only childhood could excuse. There they are happiest who dissemble best Their weariness; and they the most polite Who squander time and treasure with a smile, Though at their own destruction. She that asks Her dear five hundred friends contemns them all, And hates their coming. They (what can they less?) Make just reprisals; and, with cringe and shrug, And bow obsequious, hide their hate of her. All catch the frenzy, downward from her grace, Whose flambeaux flash against the morning skies, And gild our chamber ceilings as they pass, To her, who, frugal only that her thrift May feed excesses she can ill afford,
Is hackney'd home unlackey'd; who, in haste Alighting, turns the key in her own door, And, at the watchman's lantern borrowing light, Finds a cold bed her only comfort left.
Wives beggar husbands, husbands starve their wives On Fortune's velvet altar offering up
Their last poor pittance-Fortune, most severe
Of goddesses yet known, and costlier far
Than all that held their routs in Juno's heaven.
So fare we in this prison-house, the world; And 'tis a fearful spectacle to see
So many maniacs dancing in their chains. They gaze upon the links that hold them fast With eyes of anguish, execrate their lot, Then shake them in despair, and dance again! Now basket up the family of plagues That waste our vitals; peculation, sale Of honour, perjury, corruption, frauds By forgery, by subterfuge of law, By tricks and lies as numerous and as keen As the necessities their authors feel; Then cast them, closely bundled, every brat At the right door. Profusion is the sire.
Profusion unrestrain'd, with all that's base In character, has litter'd all the land, And bred, within the memory of no few, A priesthood such as Baal's was of old, A people such as never was till now. It is a hungry vice:-it eats up all That gives society its beauty, strength, Convenience, and security, and use:
Makes men mere vermin, worthy to be trapp'd And gibbeted, as fast as catchpole claws Can seize the slippery prey: unties the knot Of union, and converts the sacred band, That holds mankind together, to a scourge. Profusion, deluging a state with lusts Of grossest nature and of worst effects, Prepares it for its ruin: hardens, blinds, And warps the consciences of public men, Till they can laugh at Virtue; mock the fools That trust them; and in the end disclose a face That would have shock'd Credulity herself, Unmask'd, vouchsafing this their sole excuse- Since all alike are selfish, why not they? This does Profusion, and the accursed cause Of such deep mischief has itself a cause.
In colleges and halls, in ancient days, When learning, virtue, piety, and truth Were precious and inculcated with care, There dwelt a sage call'd Discipline. His head, Not yet by time completely silver'd o'er, Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth, But strong for service still, and unimpair'd. His eye was meek and gentle, and a smile Play'd on his lips; and in his speech was heard Paternal sweetness, dignity, and love. The occupation dearest to his heart
Was to encourage goodness. He would stroke The head of modest and ingenuous worth,
That blush'd at its own praise; and press the youth Close to his side that pleased him. Learning grew Beneath his care a thriving vigorous plant; The mind was well-inform'd, the passions held Subordinate, and diligence was choice.
If e'er it chanced, as sometimes chance it must, That one among so many overlean'd The limits of control, his gentle eye Grew stern, and darted a severe rebuke: His frown was full of terror, and his voice Shook the delinquent with such fits of awe As left him not, till penitence had won Lost favour back again, and closed the breach. But Discipline, a faithful servant long, Declined at length into the vale of years: A palsy struck his arm; his sparkling eye
Was quench'd in rheums of age; his voice, unstrung,
Grew tremulous, and moved derision more Than reverence in perverse rebellious youth. So colleges and halls neglected much
Their good old friend; and Discipline at length, O'erlook'd and unemploy'd, fell sick, and died. Then Study languish'd, Emulation slept,
And Virtue fled. The schools became a scene Of solemn farce, where ignorance in stilts, His cap well lined with logic not his own, With parrot tongue perform'd the scholar's part, Proceeding soon a graduated dunce.
Then Compromise had place, and Scrutiny Became stone blind; Precedence went in truck, And he was competent whose purse was so. A dissolution of all bonds ensued;
The curbs invented for the mulish mouth Of headstrong youth were broken; bars and bolts Grew rusty by disuse; and massy gates. Forgot their office, opening with a touch; Till gowns at length are found mere masquerade, The tassell'd cap and the spruce band a jest, A mockery of the world! What need of these For gamesters, jockeys, brothellers impure, Spendthrifts, and booted sportsmen, oftener seen With belted waist and pointers at their heels Than in the bounds of duty? What was learn'd, If aught was learn'd in childhood, is forgot; And such expense as pinches parents blue, And mortifies the liberal hand of love, Is squander'd in pursuit of idle sports And vicious pleasures; buys the boy a name That sits a stigma on his father's house, And cleaves through life inseparably close To him that wears it. What can after-games Of riper joys, and commerce with the world, The lewd vain world, that must receive him soon, Add to such erudition, thus acquired,
Where science and where virtue are profess'd? They may confirm his habits, rivet fast His folly, but to spoil him is a task That bids defiance to the united powers Of fashion, dissipation, taverns, stews. Now blame we most the nurslings or the nurse! The children, crook'd, and twisted, and deform'd, Through want of care; or her whose winking eye And slumbering oscitancy mars the brood? The nurse, no doubt. Regardless of her charge, She needs herself correction; needs to learn That it is dangerous sporting with the world, With things so sacred as a nation's trust, The nurture of her youth, her dearest pledge. All are not such. I had a brother once→→→→ Peace to the memory of a man of worth, A man of letters, and of manners too!
Of manners sweet as Virtue always wcars, When gay good-nature dresses her in smiles. He graced a college,* in which order yet Was sacred; and was honour'd, loved, and wept By more than one, themselves conspicuous there. Some minds are temper'd happily, and mix'd With such ingredients of good sense and taste Of what is excellent in man, they thirst With such a zeal to be what they approve, That no restraints can circumscribe them more Than they themselves by choice, for wisdom's sake. Nor can example hurt them; what they see Of vice in others but enhancing more The charms of virtue in their just esteem. If such escape contagion, and emerge Pure from so foul a pool to shine abroad, And give the world their talents and themselves, Small thanks to those, whose negligence or sloth Exposed their inexperience to the snare, And left them to an undirected choice.
See then the quiver broken and decay'd, In which are kept our arrows! Rusting thero In wild disorder, and unfit for use,
What wonder, if, discharged into the world, They shame their shooters with a random flight, Their points obtuse, and feathers drunk with wine! Well may the church wage unsuccessful war, With such artillery arm'd. Vice parries wide The undreaded volley with a sword of straw, And stands an impudent and fearless mark. Have we not track'd the felon home, and found His birthplace and his dam? The country mourns, Mourns because every plague that can infest Society, and that saps and worms the base Of the edifice that Policy has raised,
Swarms in all quarters; meets the eye, the car, And suffocates the breath at every turn. Profusion breeds them; and the cause itself Of that calamitous mischief has been found: Found too where most offensive, in the skirts Of the robed pedagogue! Else let the arraign'd Stand up unconscious, and refute the charge. So when the Jewish leader stretch'd his arm, And waved his rod divine, a race obscene, Spawn'd in the muddy beds of Nile, came forth, Polluting Egypt: gardens, fields, and plains Were cover'd with the pest; the streets were fill'd; The croaking nuisance lurk'd in every nook; Nor palaces, nor even chambers, 'scaped; And the land stank-so numerous was the fry.
Benet College, Cambridge,
Self-recollection and reproof-Address to domestic happiness-Some account of myself -The vanity of many of their pursuits who are reputed wise-Justification of my censures-Divine illumination necessary to the most expert philosopher-The question, What is truth? answered by other questions-Domestic happiness addressed again-Few lovers of the country-My tame hare-Occupations of a retired gentleman in his garden-Pruning-Framing-Greenhouse-Sowing of flower seeds-The country preferable to the town even in the winter-Reasons why it is deserted at that season-Ruinous effects of gaming, and of expensive improvement-Book concludes with an apostrophe to the metropolis.
As one who, long in thickets and in brakes Entangled, winds now this way and now that His devious course uncertain, seeking home; Or, having long in miry ways been foil'd, And sore discomfited, from slough to slough Plunging, and half despairing of escape;
If chance at length he finds a greensward smooth And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise, He chirrups brisk his ear-erecting steed, And winds his way with pleasure and with case: So I, designing other themes, and call'd To adorn the Sofa with eulogium due, To tell its slumbers, and to paint its dreams, Have rambled wide. In country, city, seat Of academic fame (howe'er deserved), Long held, and scarcely disengaged at last. But now with pleasant pace a cleanlier road I mean to tread. I feel myself at large, Courageous, and refresh'd for future toil, If toil awaits me, or if dangers new.
Since pulpits fail, and sounding boards reflect Most part an empty ineffectual sound, What chance that I, to fame so little known, Nor conversant with men or manners much, Should speak to purpose, or with better hope Crack the satiric thong? 'Twere wiser far For me, enamour'd of sequester'd scenes, And charm'd with rural beauty, to repose, Where chance may throw me, beneath elm or vine, My languid limbs, when summer sears the plains; Or, when rough winter rages, on the soft
And shelter'd Sofa, while the nitrous air
Feeds a blue flame, and makes a cheerful hearth; There, undisturb'd by Folly, and apprised How great the danger of disturbing her,
« PreviousContinue » |