The
FAKEER
:
A
TALE
.
By
the
Same
.
A
FAKEER
(
a
religious
well
known
in
the
East
,
Not
much
like
a
parson
,
still
less
like
a
priest
)
With
no
canting
,
no
sly
jesuitical
arts
,
Field-preaching
,
hypocrisy
,
learning
,
or
parts
;
By
a
happy
refinement
in
mortification
,
Grew
the
oracle
,
saint
,
and
the
pope
of
his
nation
.
But
what
did
he
do
this
esteem
to
acquire
?
Did
he
torture
his
head
or
his
bosom
with
fire
?
Was
his
neck
in
a
portable
pillory
cas'd
?
Did
he
fasten
a
chain
to
his
leg
or
his
waist
?
No
.
His
holiness
rose
to
this
sovereign
pitch
By
the
merit
of
running
long
nails
in
his
breech
.
A
wealthy
young
Indian
,
approaching
the
shrine
,
Thus
in
banter
accosts
the
prophetic
divine
.
This
tribute
accept
for
your
int'rest
with
FO
,
Whom
with
torture
you
serve
,
and
whose
will
you
must
know
;
To
your
suppliant
disclose
his
immortal
decree
;
Tell
me
which
of
the
heav'ns
is
allotted
for
me
.
FAKEER
.
Let
me
first
know
your
merits
.
INDIAN
.
I
strive
to
be
just
:
To
be
true
to
my
friend
,
to
my
wife
,
to
my
trust
:
In
religion
I
duly
observe
ev'ry
form
:
With
an
heart
to
my
country
devoted
and
warm
:
I
give
to
the
poor
,
and
I
lend
to
the
rich
—
FAKEER
.
But
how
many
nails
do
you
run
in
your
breech
?
INDIAN
.
With
submission
I
speak
to
your
rev'rence's
tail
;
But
mine
has
no
taste
for
a
ten-penny
nail
.
FAKEER
.
Well
!
I'll
pray
to
our
prophet
and
get
you
prefer'd
;
Though
no
farther
expect
than
to
heaven
the
third
.
With
me
in
the
thirtieth
your
seat
to
obtain
,
You
must
qualify
duly
with
hunger
and
pain
.
INDIAN
.
With
you
in
the
thirtieth
!
you
impudent
rogue
!
Can
such
wretches
as
you
give
to
madness
a
vogue
!
Though
the
priesthood
of
FO
on
the
vulgar
impose
,
By
squinting
whole
years
at
the
end
of
their
nose
,
Though
with
cruel
devices
of
mortification
They
adore
a
vain
idol
of
modern
creation
,
Does
the
God
of
the
heav'ns
such
a
service
direct
?
Can
his
mercy
approve
a
self-punishing
sect
?
Will
his
wisdom
be
worship'd
with
chains
and
with
nails
?
Or
e'er
look
for
his
rites
in
your
noses
and
tails
?
Come
along
to
my
house
and
these
penances
leave
,
Give
your
belly
a
feast
,
and
your
breech
a
reprieve
.
This
reas'ning
unhing'd
each
fanatical
notion
;
And
stagger'd
our
saint
in
his
chair
of
promotion
.
At
length
with
reluctance
he
rose
from
his
seat
:
And
resigning
his
nails
and
his
fame
for
retreat
,
Two
weeks
his
new
life
he
admir'd
and
enjoy'd
:
The
third
he
with
plenty
and
quiet
was
cloy'd
.
To
live
undistinguish'd
to
him
was
the
pain
,
An
existence
unnotic'd
he
could
not
sustain
.
In
retirement
he
sigh'd
for
the
fame-giving
chair
:
For
the
crowd
to
admire
him
,
to
rev'rence
and
stare
:
No
endearments
of
pleasure
and
ease
could
prevail
;
He
the
saintship
resum'd
,
and
new
larded
his
tail
.
Our
FAKEER
represents
all
the
vot'ries
of
fame
;
Their
ideas
,
their
means
,
and
their
end
is
the
same
:
The
sportsman
,
the
buck
;
all
the
heroes
of
vice
,
With
their
gallantry
,
lewdness
,
the
bottle
and
dice
;
The
poets
,
the
critics
,
the
metaphysicians
,
The
courtier
,
the
patriot
,
all
politicians
;
The
statesman
begirt
with
th'
importunate
ring
,
(
I
had
almost
compleated
my
list
with
the
king
)
All
labour
alike
to
illustrate
my
tale
;
All
tortur'd
by
choice
with
th'
invisible
nail
.