That oft the beast has seem'd to judge the man.
An ancient, not a legendary tale,

By one of sound intelligence rehearsed,

(If such who plead for Providence may seem
In modern eyes), shall make the doctrine clear.
Where England, stretch'd towards the setting sun,
Narrow and long, o'erlooks the western wave,
Dwelt young Misagathus; a scorner he
Of God and goodness, atheist in ostent,
Vicious in act, in temper savage-fierce.
He journey'd; and his chance was, as he went,
To join a traveller, of far different note,
Evander, famed for piety, for years
Deserving honour, but for wisdom more.
Fame had not left the venerable man
A stranger to the manners of the youth,
Whose face too was familiar to his view.
Their way was on the margin of the land,
O'er the green summit of the rocks, whose base
Beats back the roaring surge, scarce heard so high.
The charity, that warm'd his heart, was moved
At sight of the man-monster. With a smile
Gentle, and affable, and full of grace,
As fearful of offending whom he wish'd
Much to persuade, he plied his ear with truths
Not harshly thunder'd forth, or rudely press'd,
But, like his purpose, gracious, kind, and sweet.
And dost thou dream,' the impenetrable man
Exclaim'd, that me the lullabies of age,
And fantasies of dotards such as thou,
Can cheat, or move a moment's fear in me?
Mark now the proof I give thee, that the brave
Need no such aids, as superstition lends

To steel their hearts against the dread of death.'
He spoke, and to the precipice at hand
Push'd with a madman's fury. Fancy shrinks,
And the blood thrills and curdles, at the thought
Of such a gulf as he design'd his grave.
But, though the felon on his back could dare
The dreadful leap, more rational, his steed
Declined the death, and wheeling swiftly round,
Or e'er his hoof had press'd the crumbling verge,

Baffled his rider, saved against his will.
The frenzy of the brain may be redress'd
By medicine well applied, but without grace
The heart's insanity admits no cure.

Enraged the more, by what might have reform'd
His horrible intent, again he sought
Destruction, with a zeal to be destroy'd
With sounding whip, and rowels died in blood.
But still in vain. The Providence, that meant
A longer date to the far nobler beast,
Spared yet again the ignoble for his sake.
And now,
his prowess proved, and his sincere

Incurable obduracy evinced,

His rage grew cool; and, pleased perhaps to have earn'd

So cheaply the renown of that attempt,

With looks of some complacence he resumed
His road, deriding much the blank amaze
Of good Evander, still where he was left
Fix'd motionless, and petrified with dread.
So on they fared. Discourse on other themes
Ensuing seem'd to obliterate the past;
And tamer far for so much fury shewn,
(As is the course of rash and fiery men)

The rude companion smiled, as if transform'd.

But 'twas a transient calm. A storm was near,

An unsuspected storm. His hour was come.

The impious challenger of Power divine

Was now to learn, that Heaven though slow to wrath,
Is never with impunity defied.

His horse, as he had caught his master's mood,
Snorting, and starting into sudden rage,
Unbidden, and not now to be controll❜d,

Rush'd to the cliff, and, having reach'd it, stood.
At once the shock unseated him: he flew
Sheer o'er the craggy barrier; and, immersed
Deep in the flood, found, when he sought it not,
The death he had deserved, and died alone.
So God wrought double justice; made the fool
The victim of his own tremendous choice,
And taught a brute the way to safe revenge.

I would not enter on my list of friends

(Though graced with polish'd manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility) the man

Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
An inadvertent step may crush the snail,
That crawls at evening in the public path;
But he that has humanity, forewarn'd,
Will tread aside, and let the reptile live.
The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight,
And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes,
A visitor unwelcome, into scenes

Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove,
The chamber, or refectory, may die :
A necessary act incurs no blame.

Not so when, held within their proper bounds,
And guiltless of offence, they range the air.
Or take their pastime in the spacious field;
There they are privileged; and he that haunts
Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong,
Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm,
Who, when she form'd, design'd them an abode.
The sum is this. If man's convenience, health,
Or safety, interfere, his rights and claims
Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs.
Else they are all-the meanest things that are,
As free to live, and to enjoy that life,
As God was free to form them at the first,
Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all.
Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons
To love it too. The springtime of our years
Is soon dishonour'd and defiled in most
By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand
To check them. But, alas! none sooner shoots,
If unrestrain'd, into luxuriant growth,
Than cruelty, most devilish of them all.
Mercy to him that shews it, is the rule
And righteous limitation of its act,

By which Heaven moves in pardoning guilty man;
And he that shews none, being ripe in years,
And conscious of the outrage he commits,
Shall seek it, and not find it, in his turn.
Distinguish'd much by reason, and still more
By our capacity of Grace divine,

From creatures, that exist but for our sake,
Which, having served us, perish, we are held
Accountable; and God some future day

Will reckon with us roundly for the abuse
Of what he deems no mean or trivial trust.
Superior as we are, they yet depend

Not more on human help than we on theirs.
Their strength, or speed, or vigilance, were given
In aid of our defects. In some are found

Such teachable and apprehensive parts,

That man's attainments in his own concerns,
Match'd with the expertness of the brutes in theirs,
Are ofttimes vanquish'd, and thrown far behind.
Some shew that nice sagacity of smell,
And read with such discernment, in the port
And figure of the man, his secret aim,

That oft we owe our safety to a skill

We could not teach, and must despair to learn.
But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop
To quadruped instructors, many a good
And useful quality, and virtue too,
Rarely exemplified among ourselves;
Attachment never to be wean'd, or changed
By any change of fortune; proof alike
Against unkindness, absence, and neglect;
Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat
Can move or warp; and gratitude for small
And trivial favours, lasting as the life,
And glistening even in the dying eye.
Man praises man. Desert in arts or arms
Wins public honour; and ten thousand sit
Patiently present at a sacred song,
Commemoration-mad; content to hear
(0 wonderful effect of music's power!)
Messiah's eulogy for Handel's sake.

But less, methinks, than sacrilege might serve(For, was it less, what heathen would have dared To strip Jove's statue of his oaken wreath,

And hang it up in honour of a man?)

Much less might serve, when all that we design
Is but to gratify an itching ear,

And give the day to a musician's praise.

Remember Handel? Who, that was not born
Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets,
Or can, the more than Homer of his age?
Yes we remember him; and, while we praise
A talent so divine, remember too

That His most holy book, from whom it came,
Was never meant, was never used before,
To buckram out the mem'ry of a man.
But hush!-the muse perhaps is too severe;
And with a gravity beyond the size

And measure of the offence, rebukes a deed
Less impious than absurd, and owing more
To want of judgment than to wrong design.
So in the chapel of old Ely House,

When wandering Charles, who meant to be the third,
Had fled from William, and the news was fresh,
The simple clerk, but loyal, did announce,
And eke did rear right merrily, two staves,
Sung to the praise and glory of King George!
-Man praises man; and Garrick's memory next,
When time hath somewhat mellow'd it, and made
The idol of our worship while he lived
The God of our idolatry once more,

Shall have its altar; and the world shall go
In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine.

The theatre too small shall suffocate

Its squeezed contents, and more than it admits
Shall sigh at their exclusion, and return
Ungratified: for there some noble lord

Shall stuff his shoulders with king Richard's bunch,

Or wrap himself in Hamlet's inky cloak,

And strut, and storm, and straddle, stamp and stare,
To shew the world how Garrick did not act.

For Garrick was a worshipper himself;
He drew the liturgy, and framed the rites
And solemn ceremonial of the day,

And call'd the world to worship on the banks
Of Avon, famed in song. Ah, pleasant proof
That piety has still in human hearts

Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct.

The mulberry-tree was hung with blooming wreaths; The mulberry-tree stood centre of the dance;