52 Not, friend, 'till vanquish'd reason quits the field:
53 Then I, poor madman, 'midst the mad and vain,
54 May Judas-like betray my God for gain;
55 At HELLUO's board, where smokes th' eternal treat,
56 And all the fat on earth bow down, and eat,
57 A genuine son of LEVI may adore
58 The golden calf, as AARON did before.
59 Then welcome the full levee, where resort
60 Crouds of all ranks to pay their morning court,
61 The well-rob'd dean with face so sleek, and fair,
62 And tatter'd CODRUS pale and wan with care,[Page 32]
63 Whose yearly-breeding wife, in mean attire,
64 To feed her hungry brats must spin for hire.
65 Hail medley dome, where like the ark we find
66 Clean, and unclean, of ev'ry sort and kind!
67 Hail medley dome, where three whole hours together,
68 (Shiv'ring in cold, and faint in sultry weather)
69 We brook, athirst and hungry, all delay,
70 And wear in expectation life away!
71 But hush! in comes my lord — important, big,
72 Squints thro' his glass, and bustling shakes his wig,
73 Whose saucy curls, confin'd in triple tye,
74 With constant work his busy hands supply.
75 He stops, bows, stares — and whispers out aloud
76 "What spark is you, that jostles thro' the croud?"
77 Sir William's heir — "enough — my dear, good friend,
78 "Sir William liv'd — I think — at Ponder's end;
79 "Yes — yes — Sir William liv'd"— Then on he goes,
80 And whispering this grand secret crams his nose
81 Into your wig, and squeezing every hand,
82 "'Tis mine to serve you, Sir — Your's to command"—
83 Thus kindly breathing many a promise fair,
84 He feeds two rows of gaping fools with air;
85 Unmeaning gabbles set rotines of speech,
86 As papists pray, or prelates us'd to preach,
87 Makes himself o'er in trust, to keep his ground,
88 And FAIRLY CULLS HIS CREDITORS ALL ROUND.
89 With warm delight his words poor CODRUS hears,
90 Sweet as the fancy'd music of the spheres;
91 Then trudges jocund home thro' mire and clay,
92 While pleasing thoughts beguile the long long way;[Page 33]
93 A snug warm living skims before his eyes,
94 His tythe pig gruntles, and his grey goose flies;
95 His lonely shatter'd cot, all patcht with mud,
96 And hem'd around by many a fragrant flood,
97 Chang'd to a neat, and modern house he sees,
98 Built on high ground, and shelter'd well with trees;
99 Spacious in front the chequer'd lawns extend,
100 With useful ponds, and gardens at the end,
101 Where art and nature kindly join to bring
102 The fruits of Autumn, and the flowers of Spring.
103 No more a sun-burnt bob the preacher wears,
104 Or coat of serge, where ev'ry thread appears:
105 Behold him deckt in spruce and trim array,
106 With cassock short, and vest of raven-grey;
107 In powder'd pomp the spacious grizzle flows,
108 And the broad beaver trembles o'er his nose.
109 Ah dear delusions tempt his thoughts no more,
110 Leave him untortur'd by desire, though poor!
111 What can advance, in these degenerate days,
112 When gold, or int'rest all preferment sways,
113 A wretch unblest by Fortune, and by birth?
114 Alas, not TERRICK's parts, or TALBOT's worth!
115 Else long, long since had honest BUTLER shone
116 High in the church religion's spotless sun;
117 Had beam'd around his friendly light to chear
118 The lonely, wayworn, wandring traveller;
119 Chac'd errour's black and baleful shades away,
120 And pour'd thro' every mind resistless day.
121 Alas, the change! far in a lowly vale,
122 'Midst straggling huts, where some few peasants dwell,[Page 34]
123 He lives in virtue rich, in fortune poor,
124 And treads the path his master trod before.
125 Oh great, good man, to chear without request
126 The drooping heart, and sooth the troubled breast;
127 With cords of love the wayward sheep to hold,
128 And draw the lost, and wandring to the fold;
129 To spend so little, yet have some to spare;
130 To feed the hungry, and to cloath the bare;
131 To visit beds of sickness in the night,
132 When rains descend, and rolling thunders fright,
133 There death deprive of all his terrours foul,
134 And sing soft requiems to the parting soul!
135 Blush, blush for shame! — Your heads, ye Pastors, hide,
136 Ye pamper'd sons of luxury and pride,
137 Who leave to prowling wolves your helpless care,
138 And truck preferments at the public fair;
139 In whose fat corps the soul supinely lies,
140 Snug at her ease, and wondrous loth to rise!