No grand inquisitor could worse invent,
Than he contrives to suffer 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 Brahmin has the fairer claim.
If suff'rings, Scripture nowhere recommends,
Devis'd by self to answer selfish ends,
Give saintship, then all Europe must agree
Ten starv❜ling hermits suffer less than he.

The truth is (if the truth may suit 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 some forty years ago,
Her elbows pinioned 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 sails with lappet-head and mincing airs
Duly at chink 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 slipshod heels, and dewdrop at his nose;
His predecessor's coat advanc'd to wear,
Which future pages yet are doomed 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 saints to mount,
Though not a grace appears on strictest search,
But that she fasts, and item goes to church.
Conscious of age, she recollects her youth,
And tells, not always with an eye to truth,
Who spann'd her waist, and who, where'er he came,
Scrawl'd upon glass Miss Bridget's lovely name;
Who stole her slipper, fill'd it with tokay,
And drank the little bumper ev'ry day.
Of temper as envenom'd as an asp,
Censorious, and her ev'ry word a wasp;
In faithful mem'ry she records the crimes;
Or real, or fictitious, of the times;
Laughs at the reputations she has torn,

And holds them dangling at arm's length in scorn.
Such are the fruits of sanctimonious pride,

Of malice fed while flesh is mortified:

Take, Madam, the reward of all your pray'rs,
Where hermits and where Brahmins meet with theirs;
Your portion is with them.-Nay, never frown,
But, if you please, some fathoms lower down.
-Artist attend-your brushes and your paint-
Produce them-take a chair-now draw a saint.
Oh, sorrowful and sad! the streaming tears
Channel her cheeks-a Niobe appears!
Is this a saint? Throw tints and all away-
True Piety is cheerful as the day,

Will weep, indeed, and heave a pitying groan
For others' woes, but smiles upon her own.

What purpose has the King of saints in view? Why falls the Gospel like a gracious dew? To call up plenty from the teeming earth, Or curse the desert with a tenfold dearth? Is it that Adam's offspring may be sav'd From servile fear, or be the more enslav'd? To loose the links that gall'd mankind before, Or bind them faster on, and add still more? The freeborn Christian has no chains to prove, Or, if a chain, the golden one of love: No fear attends to quench his glowing fires, What fear he feels, his gratitude inspires. Shall he, for such deliv'rance freely wrought, Recompense ill? He trembles at the thought. His Master's int'rest and his own combin'd Prompt ev'ry movement of his heart and mind: Thought, word, and deed, his liberty evince, His freedom is the freedom of a prince. Man's obligations infinite, of course

His life should prove that he perceives their force; His utmost he can render is but small

The principle and motive all in all.

You have two servants-Tom, an arch, sly rogue, From top to toe the Geta now in vogue,

Genteel in figure, easy in address,

Moves without noise, and swift as an express,

Reports a message with a pleasing grace,

Expert in all the duties of his place;

Say, on what hinge does his obedience move

Has he a world of gratitude and love?

?

No, not a spark-'tis all mere sharper's play;
He likes your house, your housemaid, and your pay;
Reduce his wages, or get rid of her,

Tom quits you, with-Your most obedient, Sir.
The dinner serv'd, Charles takes his usual stand,
Watches your eye, anticipates command;
Sighs if perhaps your appetite should fail;
And if he but suspects a frown, turns pale;

Consults all day your int'rest and your case,
Richly rewarded if he can but please;

And, proud to make his firm attachment known,
To save your life would nobly risk his own.

Now which stands highest in your serious thought? Charles, without doubt, say you-and so he ought; One act, that from a thankful heart proceeds, Excels ten thousand mercenary deeds.

Thus Heav'n approves, as honest and sincere, The work of gen'rous love and filial fear; But with averted eyes th' omniscient Judge Scorns the base hireling, and the slavish drudge. Where dwell these matchless saints? old Curio cries. E'en at your side, Sir, and before your eyes, The favour'd few-th' enthusiasts you despise. And pleas'd at heart, because on holy ground Sometimes a canting hypocrite is found, Reproach a people with his single fall, And cast his filthy raiment at them all; Attend! --an apt similitude shall show Whence springs the conduct that offends you so. See where it smokes along the sounding plain, Blown all aslant, a driving, dashing rain, Peal upon peal redoubling all around, Shakes it again and faster to the ground; Now flashing wide, now glancing as in play, Swift beyond thought the lightnings dart away. Ere yet it came the trav'ller urg'd his steed, And hurried, but with unsuccessful speed; Now drench'd throughout, and hopeless of his case, He drops the rein, and leaves him to his pace. Suppose, unlook'd for in a scene so rude, Long hid by interposing hill or wood, Some mansion, neat and elegantly dress'd, By some kind hospitable heart possess'd, Offer him warmth, security, and rest; Think with what pleasure, safe and at his ease, He hears the tempest howling in the trees;

What glowing thanks his lips and heart employ,
While danger past is turn'd to present joy.
So fares it with the sinner, when he feels
A growing dread of vengeance at his heels:
His conscience, like a glassy lake before,
Lash'd into foaming waves, begins to roar;
The law grown clamorous, though silent long,
Arraigns him-charges him with ev'ry wrong---
Asserts the rights of his offended Lord
And death or restitution is the word:
The last impossible, he fears the first,
And, having well deserv'd, expects the worst.
Then welcome refuge, and a peaceful home;
Oh, for a shelter from the wrath to come!
Crush me, ye rocks! ye falling mountains hide,
Or bury me in ocean's angry tide.—

The scrutiny of those all-seeing eyes

I dare not--And you need not, God replies;
The remedy you want I freely give:

The Book shall teach you-read, believe, and live!
"Tis done-the raging storm is heard no more,
Mercy receives him on her peaceful shore:
And Justice, guardian of the dread command,
Drops the red vengeance from his willing hand.
A soul redeem'd demands a life of praise;
Hence the complexion of his future days,
Hence a demeanour holy and unspeck'd,
And the world's hatred as its sure effect.
Some lead a life unblameable and just,
Their own dear virtue their unshaken trust:
They never sin-or if (as all offend)
Some trivial slips their daily walk attend,
The poor are near at hand, the charge is small,
A slight gratuity atones for all.

For though the pope has lost his int'rest here,
And pardons are not sold as once they were,
No papist more desirous to compound,
Than some grave sinners upon English ground.