The FAKEER: A TALE. Richard Owen Cambridge Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T131163 K104099.006 Dodsley, Robert, 1703-1764. A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands. Vol. VI. London printed by J. Hughs, for R. and J. Dodsley 1763 [1st ed. 1758] pp. 306-308. 6v.: music; 8⁰.

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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 .