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? the bramin has the fairer claim. say If suff'rings, Scripture no where recommends, 105 110. Give saintship, then all Europe must agree 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, 115: Pride may be pamper'd while the flesh grows lean; That grace was Cowper's-his, confess'd by all Though plac'd in golden Durham's second stall. But why before us protestants produce 120 125 Reform'd and well instructed? You shall hear. 130 Yon ancient prude, whose wither'd features show She might be young some 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 135 140 She yet allows herself that boy behind; 115 150 Who spann'd her waist, and who, where'er he can e, 160 In faithful mem'ry she records the crimes, Laughs at the reputations she has torn, And holds them dangling at arm's length in scora. 165 Of malice fed while flesh is mortified : Take, Madam, the reward of all your pray'rs, Where hermits and where bramins meet with theirs, Your portion is with them.-Nay, never frown, But if you please, some fathoms lower down. 170 Artist, attend-your brushes and your paint Produce them-take a chair-now draw a saint. Is this a saint Throw tints and all away 175 True Piety is cheerful as the day, Will weep indeed and heave a pitying groan For others' woes, but smiles upon her own. Why falls the Gospel like a gracious dew? 180 185 190 195 His life should prove that he perceives their force; The principle and motive all in all. 200 You have two servants-Tom, an arch, sly rogue, From top to toe the Geta now in vogue, Gentecl in figure, easy in address, Moves without noise, and swift as an express, Reports a message with a pleasing grace, 205 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, 211 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; 215 Richly rewarded if he can but please; And, proud to make his firm attachment known, 220 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; 225 But with averted eyes th' omniscient Judge Scorns the base hireling, and the slavish drudge. Where dwell these matchless saints?-old Curio cries: 230 And pleas'd at heart, because on holy ground Whence springs the conduct that offends you so. 235 240 Shakes it again and faster to the ground: Now flashing wide, now glancing as in play, Swift beyond thought the lightnings dart away. 245 Now drench'd throughout, and hopeless of his case, 250 255 While danger past is turn'd to present joy. 260 Arraigns him,-charges him with ev'ry wrong— 265 And, having well deserv'd, expects the worst. Crush me, ye rocks; ye falling mountains, hide 270 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, 275 Mercy receives him on her peaceful shore ; And justice, guardian of the dread command, Drops the red vengeance from his willing hand. Hence the complexion of his future days, 280 Some lead a life unblamable and just, 'Their own dear virtue their unshaken trust: They never sin—or if, (as all offend,) 235 Some trivial slips their daily walk attend, The poor are near at hand, the charge is small, For though the pope has lost his int'rest here, 290 |