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

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.

life

Their rules of

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

truth,

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

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,

Since heav'n would fure

grow weary

of a world

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,

And