"Obedient fleas, and fuperftitious mice;
* Confeffing wolves, and fanctifying lice;
Letters and houfes by an angel carried;
n And, wondrous! virgin nuns to Jesus married.
One monk, not knowing how to spend his time,
Sits down to find out fome unheard-of crime;
Increases the large catalogue of fins,
And where the fober finish, there begins.
Of death eternal his decree is past,
For the first crime, as fix'd as for the laft.
While that, as idle, and as pious too,
Compounds with false religion for the true ;
He, courtly usher to the bleft abodes,
Weighs all the niceties of forms and modes;
And makes the rugged paths fo fmooth and even,
None but an ill-bred man can miss of heav'n.
One heav'n-infpir'd invents a frock, or hood:
The taylor now cuts out, and men grow good.
Another quits his ftockings, breeches, shirt,
Because he fancies virtue dwells with dirt:
Vide life of St. Colman by Colganus.
i The fame life by the fame author.
* Vide speculum vitæ fancti Francifci.
1 St. Munnu gathered those that dropt from him, and put them in their place again, vide Act. Sanctorum.
m From St. Firman to St. Columba, vide Colganum. Chapel of Loretto. Maria de la Vifitation, vide her life by Lufignam.
While all concur to take away the stress
From weightier points, and lay it on the lefs.
Anxious each paltry relique to preferve
Of him, whose hungry friends they leave to starve,
Harrass'd by watchings, abftinence, and chains;
Strangers to joy, familiar grown with pains;
To all the means of virtue they attend
With stricteft care, and only miss the end.
Can fcripture teach us, or can sense persuade,
That man for fuch employments e'er was made?
Far be that thought! But let us now relate
A character as oppofite, as great,
In him, who living gave to Athens fame,
And, by his death, immortaliz'd her fhame.
Great scourge of fophifts! he from heaven brought down,
And plac'd true wifdom on th' ufurper's throne:
Philofopher in all things, but pretence ;
He taught what they neglected, common fense.
They o'er the stiff Lyceum form'd to rule;
He, o'er mankind; all Athens was his school.
The fober tradefman, and fmart petit-maitre,
Great lords, and wits, in their own eyes still greater,
With him grew wife; unknowing they were taught;
He spoke like them, though not like them he thought:
Nor wept, nor laugh'd, at man's perverted state;
But left to women this, to ideots that.
View him with fophifts fam'd for fierce conteft,
Or crown'd with roses at the jovial fëast ;
Infulted by a peevish, noisy wife,
Or at the bar foredoc n'd to lofe his life;
What moving words flow from his artlefs tongue,
Sublime with eafe, with condefcenfion strong!
Yet scorn'd to flatter vice, or virtue blame;
Nor chang'd to please, but pleas'd because the fame;
The fame by friends carefs'd, by foes withstood,
Still unaffected, cheerful, mild, and good.
Behold one pagan, drawn in colours faint,
Outshine ten thousand monks, though each a faint!
Here let us fix our foot, hence take our view,
And learn to try false merit by the true.
We fee, when reason stagnates in the brain,
The dregs of fancy cloud its purest vein;
But circulation betwixt mind and mind
Extends its courfe, and renders it refin'd.
When warm with youth we tread the flow'ry way,
All nature charms, and every scene looks gay;
Each object gratifies each fenfe in turn,
Whilst now for rattles, now for nymphs we burn ;
Enflav'd by friendship's or by love's foft smile,
We ne'er fufpect, because we mean no guile :
"Till, flufh'd with hope from views of past success,
We lay on fome main trifle all our stress;
When lo! the miftrefs or the friend betrays,
And the whole fancied cheat of life difplays :
Stun'd with an ill that from ourselves arofe;
For instinct rul'd, when reason should have chose;
We fly for comfort to fome lonely scene,
Victims henceforth of dirt, and drink, and spleen,
But let no obstacles that cross our views,
Pervert our talents from their destin'd use ;
For, as upon life's hill we upwards press,
Our views will be obftructed lefs and lefs,
Be all falfe delicacy far away,
Left it from nature lead us quite aftray;
And for th' imagin'd vice of human race,
Destroy our virtue, or our parts debase;
Since God with reafon joins to make us own,
That 'tis not good for man to be alone.
On the Death of Col. CHARLES Ross, in the Action at Fontenoy. Written May 1745.
WHILE, loft to all his former mirth,
BRITANNIA's genius bends to earth,
And mourns the fatal day;
While, ftain'd with blood, he ftrives to tear
Unfeemly from his fea-green hair
The wreaths of cheerful May;
The thoughts which mufing pity pays,
And fond remembrance loves to raife,
Your faithful hours attend
Still fancy, to herself unkind,
Awakes to grief the foften'd mind,
And points the bleeding friend.
By rapid Scheld's defcending wave
His country's vows fhall blefs the
Where-e'er the youth is laid:
That facred fpot the village hind
With every sweetest turf shall bind,
And peace protect the fhade.
O'er him, whose doom thy virtues grieve,
Aerial forms shall fit at eve
And bend the pensive head!
And, fall'n to fave his injur'd land,
Imperial Honour's aweful hand
Shall point his lonely bed!
The warlike dead of every age,
Who fill the fair recording page,
Shall leave their fainted rest:
And, half-reclining on his fpear,
Each wond'ring Chief by turns appear,
To hail the blooming guest.
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