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Than he contrives to suffer, well content.
Which is the saintlier worthy of the two? 105 Past all dispute, yon anchorite, say you. Your sentence and mine differ. What s a name I say
the bramin has the fairer claim. If suff'rings, Scripture no where recommends, Devi z’d by self to answer selfish ends,
110 Give saintship, then all Europe must agree Ten starving hermits suffer less than he.
The truth, is, (if the truth may suit your ear
125 In mis’ry fools upon themselves impose.
But why before us protestants produce An Indian mystick, or a French recluse ? Their sin is plain ; but what have we to fear, Reform'd and well instructed ?. You shall hear. 130
Yon ancient prude, whose wither'd features show She might be young some forty years ago, Her elbows pinion'd close upon her hips, Her head erect, her fan upon her lips, Her eye-brows arch'd, her eyes both gone astray 135 To watch yon am'rous couple in their play, With bony and unkerchief'd neck defies The rude inclemency of wintry skies, And sails with lappet head and mincing airs, Duly at clink of bell to morning pray'rs.
140 To thrift and parsimony much inclin'd,
She yet allows herself that boy behind;
She half an angel in her own account, Doubts not hereaster with the saints to mount. 150 Though not a grace appears on strictest search, But that she fasts, and, item, goes to church. Conscious of age she recollects her youth, And tells, not always, with an eye to truth, Who spann'd her waist, and who, where'er he can e, Scrawld upon glass Miss Bridget's lovely name; 156 Who-stole her slipper, fill'd it with tokay, And drank the little bumper ev'ry day. Of tem per as envenom'd as an asp, Censorious, and her ev'ry word a wasp ;
160 In faithful mem'ry she records the crimes, Or real or fictitious of the times; Laughs at the reputations she has torn, And holds them dangling at arm's length in scorn.
Such are the fruits of sanctimonious pride, 165
Artist, attend-your brushes and your paint-
Why falls the Gospel like a gracious dew? 180
Man's obligations infinite, of course
211 Tom quits you, with-Your most obedient, Sir.
The dinner serv'd, Charles takes his usual stand, Watches your eye, anticipates command ; Sighs, if perhaps your appetite should fail ; 215 And, if he but suspects a frown, turns pale ; Consults all day your int’rest ar.d your case,
Richly rewarded if he can but please ;
Now which stands highest in your.serious thought?
225 The work of gen'rous love, and filial fear ; But with averted eyes th' omniscient Judge Scorns the base hireling, and the slavish drudge. Where dwell these matchless saints ?-old Curio cries : Ev'n at your side, Sir, and before your eyes,
230 The favour'd fewth' enthusiasts you despise. And pleas'd at heart, because on holy ground Sometimes a canting hypocrite is found, Reproach a people with a single fall, And cast his filthy garment at them all.
235 Attend.-an apt similitude shall show Whence springs the conduct that offends you so.
See where it smokes along the sounding plain,
240 Shakes it again and faster to the ground : Now flashing wide, now glancing as in play, 'Swift beyond thought the lightnings dart away. Ere yet it came the trav'ller urg'd his steed, And hurried, but with unsuccessful speed;
245 Now drench'd throughout, and hopeless of his case, He drops the rein, and leaves him to his pace. Suppose, unlook'd for in a scene so rude, Long hid by interposing hill or wood, Some mansion, neat and elegantly dressid, 250 By some kind hospitable heart possess'd, Offer him warmth, security, and rest ; Think with what pleasure, safe, and at his ease He hears the tempest howling in the trees; What glowing thanks his lips and heart employ 255
While danger past is turn'd to present joy.
205 And, having well deserv'd, expects the worst. Then welcome refuge, and a peaceful home ; Oh for a shelter from the wrath to come! Crush rne, ye rocks; ye falling mountains, hide Or bury me in ocean's angry tide
270 The scrutiny of those all-seeing eyes I ďare not-And you need not, God replies : The remedy you want I freely give; The book shall teach you-read, believe, and live. 'Tis done-the raging storm is heard no more,
275 Mercy receives him on her peaceful shore ; And justice, guardian of the dread command, Drops the red vengeance from his willing hand. A soul redeem'd demands a life of praise ; Hence the complexion of his future days,
280 Hence a demeanour holy and unspeck’d, And the world's hatred, as its sure effect.
Some lead a life unblamable and just, 'Their own dear virtue their unshaken trust : They never sin-or if, (as all offend,)
235 Some trivial slips their daily walk attend, The poor are near at hand, the charge is small, A slight gratuity atones for all. For though the pope has lost his int’rest here, And pardons are not sold as once they were,
290 No papist more desirous to compound, Than some grave sinners upon English ground, That plea refuted, other quirks they seek