Sit long and late at the carousing board?
(Such were the fins with which he. charg'd his Lord.)
No-the man's morals were exact. What then?
'Twas his ambition to be seen of men;
His virtues were his pride; and that one vice
Made all his virtues gewgaws of no price;
He wore them, as fine trappings, for a show;
A praying, fynagogue-frequenting, beau.
The felf-applauding bird, the peacock, fee→→
Mark what a fumptuous pharifee is he!
Meridian fun-beams tempt him to unfold
His radiant glories; azure, green, and gold:
He treads as if, fome folemn mufic near,
His meafur'd step were govern'd by his ear;
And feems to fay-Ye meaner fowl, give place;
I am all splendour, dignity, and grace!
Not fo the pheafant on his charms prefumes;
Though he, too, has a glory in his plumes.
He, christian like, retreats with modest mien
To the close copfe, or far-fequefter'd green,
And fhines, without defiring to be seen,
The plea of works, as arrogant and vain,
Heav'n turns from with abhorrence and difdain: Not more affronted by avow'd neglect,
Than by the mere diffembler's feign'd respect.
What is all righteousness that men devise?
What-but a fordid bargain for the skies?
But Chrift as foon would abdicate his own,
As ftoop from heav'n to fell the proud a throne.
His dwelling a recefs in fome rude rock;
Book, beads, and maple-difh, his meagre ftock;
In fhirt of hair and weeds of canvass dress'd,
Girt with a bell-rope that the pope has blefs'd;
Aduft 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 poftpon'd, and never to be paid;
See the fage hermit, by mankind admir'd,
With all that bigotry adopts infpir'd,
Wearing out life in his religious whim,
'Till his religious whimfy 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 fenfe-
My penitential stripes, my ftreaming blood,
Have purchas'd heav'n, and prove my title good.
Turn eastward now, and fancy fhall apply
To your weak fight her telescopic eye.
The bramin kindles on his own bare head
The facred fire-self-torturing his trade!
His voluntary pains, fevere and long,
Would give a barb'rous air to British fong;
No grand inquifitor could worse invent,
Than he contrives, to fuffer, well content.
Which is the faintlier worthy of the two?
Paft all difpute, yon anchorite fay you.
Your fentence and mine differ. What's a name?
I say the bramin has the fairer claim.
If fuff'rings, feripture no where recommends,
Devis'd by self, to answer selfish ends,
Give faintship, then all Europe must agree
Ten ftarvling hermits fuffer lefs than he.
The truth is (if the truth may fuit your ear,
And prejudice have left a paffage clear)
Pride has attain'd its moft luxuriant growth,
And poifon'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, confefs'd by all-
Though plac'd in golden Durham's fecond stall.
Not all the plenty of a bishop's board,
His palace, and his lacqueys, and " My Lord,"
More nourish pride, that condefcending vice,
Than abftinence, and beggary, and lice:
It thrives in mis'ry, and abundant grows;
In mis'ry fools upon themselves impose.
But why before us proteftants produce
An Indian mystic, or a French recluse ?
Their fin is plain; but what have we to fear,
Reform'd, and well inftructed? You shall hear.
Yon ancient prude, whofe 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 aftray
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 parfimony much inclin❜d,
She yet allows herfelf that boy behind.
The fhiv'ring urchin, bending as he goes,
With flip-fhod heels, and dew-drop at his nofe;
His predeceffor's coat advanc'd to wear,
Which future pages yet are doom'd to fhare;
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,
|