But falsely. Sages after sages strove In vain to filter off a crystal draught
Pure from the lees, which often more enhanced The thirst than slaked it, and not seldom bred Intoxication and delirium wild.
In vain they push'd inquiry to the birth
And spring-time of the world; ask'd, Whence is man Why form'd at all? and wherefore as he is? Where must he find his Maker? With what rites Adore Him? Will He hear, accept, and bless ? Or does He sit regardless of His works? Has man within him an immortal seed? Or does the tomb take all? If he survive His ashes, where? and in what weal or wo? Knots worthy of solution, which alone
A Deity could solve. Their answers, vague And all at random, fabulous and dark,
Left them as dark themselves. Their rules of life, Defective and unsanction'd, proved too weak To bind the roving appetite, and lead Blind nature to a God not yet reveal'd. 'Tis revelation satisfies all doubts, Explains all mysteries except her own, And so illuminates the path of life, That fools discover it, and stray no more. Now tell me, dignified and sapient sir, My man of morals, nurtured in the shades Of Academus is this false or true? Is Christ the abler teacher, or the schools? If Christ, then why resort at every 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 served 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,
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 flattery made so, taught
To gaze at his own splendour, and to 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 the exterior form And mode of its conveyance by such tricks As move derision, or by foppish airs And histrionic mummery, that let down The pulpit to the level of the stage Drops from the lips a disregarded thing.
The weak perhaps are moved, 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
Soon follows, and, the curb of conscience snapt, The laity run wild.— But do they now? Note their extravagance, and be convinced. 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, Of whom I needs must augur better things, Since Heaven would sure grow weary of a world Productive only of a race like ours,
We wear it at our backs. There, closely braced And neatly fitted, it compresses hard
The prominent and most unsightly bones, And binds the shoulders flat. We prove its use Sovereign 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 — 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 every 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 its flavour. We have run Through every change that fancy, at the loom Exhausted, has had genius to supply; And, studious of mutation still, discard A real elegance, a little used,
For monstrous novelty and strange disguise. We sacrifice to dress, till household joys
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 to exhibit at the public shows
A form as splendid as the proudest there, 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 gray, but never wise; There form connections, 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 godesses 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
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