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 paffage clear)
Pride has attain'd its most 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 second 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 myftic, or a French recluse?
Their fin is plain; but what have we to fear,
Reform'd, and well inftructed? You fhall 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 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 herself that boy behind.
The thiv'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 thare;
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,
Though not a grace appears, on ftricteft fearch,
But that the fafts, and, item, goes to church.
Confcious of age, fhe recollects her youth,
And tells, not always with an eye to truth,
Who fpann'd her waift, and who, where'er he came,
Scrawl'd upon glass miss Bridget's lovely name;
Who ftole her flipper, fill'd it with tokay,
And drank the little bumper ev'ry day.

Of temper as envenom'd as an afp;
Cenforious, and her ev'ry word a wasp;
In faithful mem'ry the records the crimes,
Or real, or fictitious, of the times;

Laughs at the reputations fhe has torn,

And holds them, dangling at arms length, in scorn. Such are the fruits of fanctimonious pride,

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, fome fathoms lower down.

Artift, attend! your brushes and your paintProduce them-take a chair—now draw a faint. Oh, forrowful and fad! the streaming tears Channel her cheeks-a Niobe appears! Is this a faint? Throw tints and all awayTrue 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 faints in view? Why falls the gospel like a gracious dew? To call up plenty from the teeming earth, Or curfe the desert with a tenfold dearth?

Is it that Adam's offspring may be fav'd From fervile fear, or be the more enflav'd? To loose the links that gall'd mankind before, Or bind them fafter on, and add still more? The freeborn Chriftian 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 fuch deliv'rance, freely wrought, Recompenfe ill? He trembles at the thought. His mafter's int'reft 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 obligation's infinite, of course

His life thould prove that he perceives their force: His utmost he can render is but small

The principle and motive all in all.

You have two fervants-Tom, an arch, ily rogue,

From top to toe the geta now in vogue,

Genteel in figure, easy in address,

Moves without noife, and fwift as an exprefs,

Reports a meffage with a pleafing 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 fpark-'tis all mere fharper's play;
He likes your houfe, your housemaid, and your pay;
Reduce his wages, or get rid of her,

Tom quits you, with-Your moft obedient, Sir.
The dinner ferv'd, Charles takes his usual stand,
Watches your eye, anticipates command;
Sighs, if perhaps your appetite should fail;
And, if he but fufpects a frown, turns pale;
Confults all day your int'reft and your ease,

Richly rewarded if he can but please;

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

Now which ftands higheft in your ferious

thought?

Charles, without doubt, fay you-and fo he ought; One act, that from a thankful heart proceeds, Excels ten thousand mercenary deeds.

Thus heav'n approves, as honest and fincere, The work of gen'rous love and filial fear; But, with averted eyes, th' omnifcient Judge Scorns the base hireling, and the flavish drudge.