Sit long and late at the carousing board ?
(Such were the sins with which he.charg’d his Lord.)
No-the man's morals were exact. What then?
'Twas his ambition to be seen of mens.
His virtues were his pride; and that one vice
Made all his virtues gewgàws of no price;
He wore them, as fine trappings, for a show;
A praying, fynagogue-frequenting, beau.

The self-applauding bird, the peacock, seem
Mark what a sumptuous pharisee is he!
Meridian fun-beams tempt him to unfold
His radiant glories ; azure, green, and gold:
He treads as if, fome folemn music near,
His measur’d step were govern'd by his ear;
And seems to fay-Ye meaner fowl, give place;
I am all splendour, dignity, and grace!

Not so the pheasant on his charms prefumes;
Though he, too, has a glory in his plumes.
He, christian like, retreats with modest mien
To the close copse, or far-sequester'd green,
And shines, without desiring to be seen,

The plea of works, as arrogant and vain, :
Heav'n turns from with abhorrence and disdain's
Not more affronted by avow'd neglect,

Than by the mere dissembler's feign’d respect.
What is all righteousness that men devise ?
What-but a sordid bargain for the skies ? .
But Chriit as soon would abdicate his own,
As stoop from heav'n to sell the proud a throne.

His dwelling a recess in some rude rock;
Book, beads, and maple-dish, his meagre stock;
In shirt of hair and weeds of canvass dress’d,
Girt with a bell-rope that the pope has bless’d;
Adult with stripes, told out for ev'ry crime,
And fore tormented, long before his time ;
His pray’r preferr’d to faints that cannot aid;
His praise postpon’d, and never to be paid ;
See the sage hermit, by mankind admir’d,
With all that bigotry adopts inspir’d,
Wearing out life in his religious whim,
'Till his religious whimsy wears out him.


His works, his abstinence, his zeal, allow'd,
You think him humble-God accounts him proud.
High in demand, though lowly in pretence,
Of all his conduct this the genuine senfe—
My penitential stripes, my streaming blood,
Have purchas'd heav'n, and prove my title good.

Turn eastward now, and fancy shall apply
To your weak sight her telescopic eye.
The bramin kindles on his own bare head
The sacred fire-felf-torturing his trade !
His voluntary pains, severe and long,
Would give a barb'rous air to British fong;
No grand inquisitor could worse invent,
Than he contrives, to fuffer, well content.

Which is the saintlier worthy of the two?
Past all dispute, yon anchorite say you.
Your sentence and mine differ. What's a name?
I say the bramin has the fairer claim.
If fuff’rings, seripture no where recommends,
Devis'd by self, to answer selfish ends,

Give faintship, then all Europe must agree
Ten starvling hermits fuffer less than he.

The truth is (if the truth may fuit your ear,
And prejudice have left a passage clear)
Pride has attain'd its most luxuriant growth,
And poison'd ev'ry virtue in them both.
Pride may be pamper'd while the flesh grows lean;
Humility may clothe an English dean;
That grace was Cowper’s-his, confess’d by all-
Though plac'd in golden Durham's second stall.
Not all the plenty of a bishop's board,
His palace, and his lacqueys, and “ My Lord,"
More nourish pride, that condescending vice,
Than abstinence, and beggary, and lice:
It thrives in mis’ry, and abundant grows ;
In mis’ry fools upon themselves impose.

But why before us protestants produce
An Indian mystic, or a French recluse ?
Their sin is plain ; but what have we to fear,
Reform'd, and well instructed? You shall hear.

Yon ancient prude, whose wither'd features show She might be young fome forty years ago, Her elbows pinion’d close upon her hips, Her head erect, her fan upon her lips, Her eye-brows arch’d, her eyes both gone astray

To watch yon am'rous couple in their play, · With bony and unkerchief'd neck, defies

The rude inclemency of wintry skies,
And fails, with lappet-head and mincing airs;
Duly, at clink of bell, to morning pray’rs.
To thrift and parsimony much inclin'd,
She yet allows herself that boy behind.
The shiv’ring urchin, bending as he goes,
With Nip-shod heels, and dew-drop at his nose;
His predecessor's coat advanc'd to wear,
Which future, pages yet are doom'd to share ;
Carries her bible, tuck'd beneath his arm,
And hides his hands, to keep his fingers warm..

She, half an angel in her own account,
Doubts not hereafter with the faints to mount,

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