That he had ta'en in charge. He would not stoop To conquer thofe by jocular exploits, Whom truth and fobernefs affail'd in vain.
Oh, popular applaufe! what heart of man Is proof against thy fweet feducing charms ? The wifeft and the best feel urgent need Of all their caution in thy gentlest gales; But fwell'd into a guft-who then, alas! With all his canvafs fet, and inexpert,
And therefore heedless, can withstand thy power ? Praise from the rivel'd lips of toothless, bald Decrepitude; and in the looks of lean And craving poverty; and in the bow Refpectful of the finutch'd artificer,
Is oft too welcome, and may much disturb The bias of the purpose. How much more Pour'd forth by beauty fplendid and polite, In language foft as adoration breathes ? Ah fpare your idol! think him human still. Charms he may have, but he has frailties too, Doat not too much, nor fpoil what ye admire.
All truth is from the fempiternal source
Of light divine. But Egypt, Greece, and Rome, Drew from the ftream below. More favour'd, we Drink, when we chufe it, at the fountain head. To them it flow'd much mingled and defil'd With hurtful error, prejudice, and dreams
Illufive of philofophy, fo call'd,
But falfely. Sages after fages ftrove, In vain, to filter off a cryftal draught
Pure from the lees, which often more enhanc'd The thirft than flak'd it, and not feldom bred Intoxication and delirium wild.
In vain they pufh'd enquiry to the birth
And fpring-time of the world; afk'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 blefs? Or does he fit regardless of his works? Has man within him an immortal feed ? Or does the tomb take all? If he furvive His afhes, where? and in what weal or woe ? Knots worthy of folution, which alone A Deity could folve. Their answers vague, And all at random, fabulous and dark, Left them as dark themfelves.
Defective and unfanction'd, prov'd too weak To bind the roving appetite, and lead Blind nature to a God not yet reveal'd. 'Tis Revelation fatisfies all doubts, Explains all myfteries, except her own,
And fo illuminates the path of life,
That fools difcover it, and ftray no more : Now tell me, dignified and fapient fir, My man of morals, nurtur'd in the shades Of Academus, is this falfe or true? Is Chrift the able teacher, or the schools? If Chrift, then why resort at ev'ry turn To Athens or to Rome, for wisdom short Of man's occafions, when in him refide
Grace, knowledge, comfort, an unfathom'd store ? How oft, when Paul has ferv'd us with a text, Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully preach'd !
Men that, if now alive, would fit content And humble learners of a Saviour's worth,
Preach it who might. Such was their love of
Their thirft of knowledge, and their candour too. And thus it is. The paftor, either vain By nature, or by flatt'ry made fo, taught To gaze at his own fplendor, and t'exalt Abfurdly, 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 ftrefs of lewd And loofe example, whom he should instruct, Expofes and holds up to broad disgrace The nobleft function, and difcredits much The brightest truths that man has ever feen.
For ghoftly counsel, if it either fall
Below the exigence, or be not back'd
With show of love, at least with hopeful proof Of some fincerity on the giver's part;
Or be dishonour'd in th' exterior form
And mode of its conveyance, by fuch tricks As move derifion, or by foppish airs And hiftrionic mumm'ry that let down The pulpit to the level of the ftage,. Drops from the lips a difregarded 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 fee. 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 convinc'd. As nations ignorant of God, contrive A wooden one, fo we, no longer taught By monitors that mother church supplies, Now make our own. Pofterity will ask (If e'er pofterity fee verfe of mine) Some fifty or an hundred luftrums hence, What was a monitor in George's days? My very gentle reader, yet unborn,
Of whom I needs muft augur better things,
Productive only of a race like ours,
A monitor is wood. Plank fhaven thin.
We wear it at our backs. There closely brac'd And neatly fitted, it compreffes hard
The prominent and moft unfightly bones, And binds the shoulders flat. We prove its ufe Sov'reign and most effectual to fecure
A form not now gymnaftic as of yore,
From rickets and diftortion, elfe, our lot. But thus admonifl'd we can walk erect,
One proof, at least of manhood; while the friend Sticks clofe, a Mentor worthy of his charge. Our habits coflier than Lucullus wore, And by caprice as multiplied as his, Juft please us while the fashion is at full, But change with ev'ry moon. The fycophant Who waits to drefs us, arbitrates their date, Surveys his fair reverfion with keen eye; Finds one ill made, another obfolete. This fits not nicely, that is ill conceiv'd, 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 ev'ry change that fancy at the loom Exhaufted, has had genius to fupply,
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