Now tell me, dignified and sapient sir,

My man of morals, nurtur'd in the shades
Of Academus-is this false or true?

Is Christ the abler teacher, or the schools?
If Christ, then why resort at ev'ry turn
To Athens or to Rome, for wisdom short
Of man's occasions, when in him reside

Grace, knowledge, comfort-an unfathom'd store? How oft, when Paul has serv'd us with a text,

Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully, preach'd!

Men that, if now alive, would sit content

And humble learners of a Saviour's worth,

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Preach it who might. Such was their love of truth, Their thirst of knowledge, and their candour too!

And thus it is. The pastor, either vain By nature, or by flatt'ry made so, taught To gaze at his own splendour, and t'exalt Absurdly, not his office, but himself;

Or unenlighten'd, and too proud to learn;

Or vicious, and not therefore apt to teach;

Perverting often, by the stress of lewd

And loose example, whom he should instruct;
Exposes, and holds up to broad disgrace,

The noblest function, and discredits much
The brightest truths, that man has ever seen.
For ghostly counsel; if it either fall

Below the exigence, or be not back'd

With show of love, at least with hopeful proof

Of some sincerity on the giver's part;

Or be dishonour'd in th' exterior form

And mode of it's conveyance by such tricks,

As move derision, or by foppish airs
And histrionic mumm'ry, that let down

The pulpit to the level of the stage;
Drops from the lips a disregarded thing.

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The weak perhaps are mov'd, but are not taught,
While prejudice in men of stronger minds

Takes deeper root, confirm'd by what they see.
A relaxation of religion's hold

Upon the roving and untutor'd heart

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Soon follows, and, the curb of conscience snapp'd,

The laity run wild.-But do they now?
Note their extravagance, and be convinc'd.

As nations, ignorant of God, contrive
A wooden one; so we, no longer taught
By monitors, that mother church supplies,
Now make our own. Posterity will ask
(If e'er posterity see verse of mine)
Some fifty or a hundred lustrums hence,

What was a monitor in George's days?

My very gentle reader, yet unborn,

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Of whom I needs must augur better things, Since Heav'n would sure grow weary of a world Productive only of a race like ours,

A monitor is wood-plank shaven thin.

We wear it at our backs. There, closely brac'd

And neatly fitted, it compresses hard

The prominent and most unsightly bones,

And binds the shoulder flat. We prove it's use

Sov'reign and most effectual to secure

A form, not now gymnastic as of yore,

From rickets and distortion, else our lot.

But, thus admonish'd, we can walk erect

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One proof at least of manhood! while the friend Sticks close, a Mentor worthy of his charge.

Our habits, costlier than Lucullus wore,

And by caprice as multiplied as his,

Just please us while the fashion is at full,

But change with ev'ry moon. The sycophant,
Who waits to dress us, arbitrates their date;
Surveys his fair reversion with keen eye;
Finds one ill made, another obsolete,

This fits not nicely, that is ill conceived;
And, making prize of all that he condemns,
With our expenditure defrays his own.

Variety's the very spice of life,

That gives it all it's flavour. We have run

Through ev'ry change, that Fancy, at the loom

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Exhausted, has had genius to supply;

And, studious of mutation still, discard

A real elegance, a little us'd,

For monstrous novelty and strange disguise.
We sacrifice to dress, till household joys

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And comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry, And keeps our larder lean; puts out our fires;

And introduces hunger, frost, and wo,

Where peace and hospitality might reign.

What man that lives, and that knows how to live,
Would fail t' exhibit at the public shows

A form as splendid as the proudest there,
Though appetite raise outcries at the cost?

A man o' th' town dines late, but soon enough,
With reasonable forecast and dispatch,

T' ensure a sidebox 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!

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