Howe'er difguis'd th' inflammatory tale,
And cover'd with a fine-fpun fpecious veil,
Such writers and fuch readers owe the guft
And relish of their pleasure all to luft.
But the muse, eagle-pinion'd, has in view
A quarry more important still than you;
Down down the wind fhe fwims and fails away,
Now ftoops upon it and now grafps the prey.
Petronius! all the mufes weep for thee,
But ev'ry tear shall scald thy memory.
The graces too, while virtue at their fhrine
Lay bleeding under that soft hand of thine,
Felt each a mortal ftab in her own breaft,
Abhorr'd the facrifice, and curs'd the priest.
Thou polish'd and high-finish'd foe to truth,
Gray beard corrupter of our lift'ning youth,
To purge and skim away the filth of vice,
That fo refin'd it might the more entice,
Then pour it on the morals of thy fon
To taint bis heart, was worthy of thine own.
Now while the poison all high life pervades,
Write if thou can't one letter from the fhades,
One, and one only, charg'd with deep regret,
That thy worst part, thy principles live yet;
One fad epiftle thence, may cure mankind,
Of the plague fpread by bundles left behind.
'Tis granted, and no plainer truth appears, Our most important are our earliest years; The mind impreffible and foft, with ease Imbibes and copies what the hears and fees, And through life's labyrinth holds faft the clue That education gives her, falfe or true. Plants rais'd with tenderness are feldom ftrong, Man's coltifh difpofition asks the thong, And without difcipline the fav'rite child, Like a neglected forefter runs wild. But we, as if good qualities would grow Spontaneous, take but little pains to fow; We give fome latin and a smatch of greek, Teach him to fence and figure twice a week, And having done we think, the best we can, Praise his proficiency and dub him man.
From school to Cam or Ifis, and thence home, And thence with all convenient fpeed to Rome, With rev'rend tutor clad in habit lay,
To teaze for cash and quarrel with all day;
With memorandum-book for ev'ry town,
And ev'ry poft, and where the chaife broke down:
His ftock, a few French phrafes got by heart,
With much to learn, but nothing to impart,
The youth obedient to his fire's commands,
Sets off a wand'rer into foreign lands:
Surpriz'd at all they meet, the gofling pair
With aukward gait, stretch'd neck, and filly stare,
Discover huge cathedrals built with ftone,
And steeples tow'ring high much like our own;
But fhow peculiar light by many a grin
At Popish practices obferv'd within.
Ere long, fome bowing, fmirking, fmart Abbé,
Remarks two loit'rers that have loft their way,
And being always primed with politeffe
For men of their appearance and addrefs,
With much compaffion undertakes the task,
To tell them more than they have wit to afk;
Points to inscription wherefoe'er they tread,
Such as when legible were never read,
But being canker'd now, and half,worn out,
Craze antiquarian brains with endless doubt:
Some headless hero, or fome Cæfar fhows-
Defective only in his Roman nofe;
Exhibits elevations, drawings, plans,
Models of Herculanean pots and pans,
And fells them medals, which if neither rare
Nor ancient, will be fo, preferv'd with care.
Strange the recital! from whatever cause
His great improvements and new lights he draws,
The Squire once bafhful, is fhame-fac'd no more,
But teems with pow'rs he never felt before:
Whether increas'd momentum, and the force
With which from clime to clime he fped his course,
As axles fometimes kindle as they go,
Chaf'd him and brought dull nature to a glow;
Or whether clearer fkies and fofter air
That make Italian flow'rs fo fweet and fair,
Fresh'ning his lazy fpirits as he ran,
Unfolded genially and fpread the man;
Returning he proclaims by many a grace,
By fhrugs and strange contortions of his face,
How much a dunce that has been fent to roam,
Excels a dunce that has been kept at home.
Accomplishments have taken virtue's place,
And wisdom falls before exterior grace;
We flight the precious kernel of the flone,
And toil to polish its rough coat alone.
A juft deportment, manners grac'd with ease,
Elegant phrafe, and figure form'd to please,
Are qualities that feem to comprehend
Whatever parents, guardians, fchools intend;
Hence an unfurnish'd and a listless mind,
Though bufy, trifling; empty, though refin'd;
Hence all that interferes, and dares to clash
With indolence and luxury, is trash;
While learning, once the man's exclufive pride,
Seems verging faft towards the female fide.
Will providence o'erlook the wafted good?
Temperance were no virtue if he could.
That pleasures, therefore, or what fuch we call,
Are hurtful, is a truth confefs'd by all.
And fome that seem to threaten virtue lefs,
Still hurtful, in th' abuse, or by th' excefs.
Is man then only for his torment plac'd, The center of delights he may not taste? Like fabled Tantalus condemn'd to hear The precious ftream ftill purling in his ear, Lip-deep, in what he longs for, and yet curst With prohibition and perpetual thirst ? No, wrangler-deftitute of shame and sense, The precept that enjoins him abstinence, Forbids him none but the licentious joy, Whose fruit, though fair, tempts only to destroy. Remorse, the fatal egg by pleasure laid
In every bofom where her neft is made,
Hatch'd by the beams of truth denies him reft,
And proves a raging fcorpion in his breast.
No pleasure? Are domestic comforts dead?
Are all the nameless sweets of friendship fled?
Has time worn out, or fashion put to shame
Good fenfe, good health, good confcience, and
good fame?
All these belong to virtue, and all prove
That virtue has a title to your love.
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