„Oh, may we never love as these have lov'd!"
From the full choir when loud hosannahs rise,
And swell the pomp of dreadful sacrifice,
Amid that scene if some relenting eye
Glance on the stone where our cold relics lie,
Devotion's self shall steal a thought from heav'n,
One human tear' shall drop, and be forgiv'n.
And sure if fate some future bard shall join,
In sad similitude of griefs to mine,
Condemn'd whole years in absence, to deplore,
And image charms he must behold no more;
Such if there be, who loves so long, so well;
Let him our sad, our tender story tell!
The well-sung woes will soothe my pensive ghost;
He best can paint them who shall feel them most,
Biographische und literarische Nachrichten von demselben findet man im ersten Theil dieses Handbuchs S. 111 ff. ́Seine Gedichte nehmen in der Andersonschen Sammlung einen Theil des gten Bandes und bei Bell den 52 bis 55sten Band ein. Aufser den bereits angeführten Biographien dieses Dichters, verdient hier noch die von Anderson bemerkt zu werden.
THE BEASTS CONFESSION TO THE PRIEST.
(On observing how most men mistake their own talents. 1732.)
When beasts could speak (the learned say
They still can do so every day,)
It seems, they had religion then,
As much as now we find in men.
It happen'd, when a plague broke out,
(Which therefore made them more devout),
The king of brutes (to make it plain,
Of quadrupeds I only mean)
By proclamation gave command,
That every subject in the land
Should to the priest confess their sins;
And thus the pious wolf begins:
Good father, I must own with shame, That often I have been to blame! I must confess, on Friday last, Wretch that I was! I broke my But, I defy the basest tongue To prove I did my neighbour wrong, Or ever went to seek my food By rapine, theft, or thirst of blood.
The ass approaching next, confess'd, That in his heart he lov'd a jest: A wag he was, he needs must own, And could not let a dunce alone: Sometimes his friend he would not spare, And might perhaps be too severe: But yet, the worst that could be said, He was a wit both born and bred; And, if it be a sin or shame, Nature alone must bear the blame: One fault he hath, is sorry for't, His ears are half a foot too short; Which could he to the standard bring, He'd shew his face before the king: Then for his voice, there's none disputes That he's the nightingale of brutes.
The swine with contrite heart allow'd, His shape and beauty made him proud: In diet was perhaps too nice, But gluttony was ne'er his vice: In every turn of life content, And meekly took what fortune sent: Inquire through all the parish round, A better neighbour ne'er was found: His vigilance might some displease; 'Tis true, he hated sloth like pease.
The mimic ape began his chatter, How evil tongues his life bespatter: Much of the censuring world complain'd, Who said, his gravity was feign'd: Indeed, the strictness of his morals Engag'd him in an hundred quarrels:
He saw, and he was griev'd to see't,
His zeal was sometimes indiscreet:
He found his virtues too severe
For our corrupted times to bear:
Yet such a lewd licentious age
Might well excuse a Stoic's rage.
The goat advanc'd with decent pace,
And first excus'd his youthful face;
Forgiveness begg'd, that he appear'd
('Twas nature's fault) without a beard.
'Tis true, he was not much inclin'd
To fondness for the female kind;
Not, as his enemies object,
From chance, or natural defect;
Not by his frigid constitution;
But, through a pious resolution;
For he had made a holy vow
Of chastity, as monks do now;
Which he resolv'd to keep for ever hence,
As strictly too, as doth his *) Reverence.
Apply the tale, and you shall find,
How just it suits with human - kind.
Some faults we own: but, can you guess?
Why, virtues carried to excess, Wherewith our vanity endows us,
Though neither foe nor friend allows us.
The lawyer swears (you may rely on't)
He never squeez'd a needy client;
And this he makes his constant rule;
For which his brethren call him fool:
His conscience always was so nice,
He freely gave the poor advice;
By which he lost, he may affirm,
A hundred fees last Easter-term.
While others of the learned robe
Would break the patience of a Job.
No pleader at the bar could match
His diligence and quick dispatch;
Ne'er kept a cause, he well may boast,
Above a term, or two at most.
The priest his confessor.
The cringing knave, who seeks a place
Without success, thus tells his case:
Why should he longer mince, the matter?
He fail'd, because he could not flatter;
He had not learn'd to turn his coat,
Nor for a party give his vote:
His crime he quickly understood;
Too zealous for the nation's good;
He found, the ministers resent it,
Yet could not for his heart repent it.
The chaplain vows, he cannot fawn,
Though it would raise him to the lawn:
He pass'd his hours among his books;
You find it in his meagre looks:
He might, if he were worldly wise,
Preferment get, and spare his eyes:
But own'd, he had a stubborn spirit,
That made him trust alone to merit;
Would rise by merit to promotion;
Alas! a mere chimeric notion.
The doctor, if will believe him,
you
Confess'd a sin, (and God forgive him!)
Call'd up at midnight, ran to save
A blind old beggar from the grave:
But see how Satan spreads his snares;
He quite forgot to say his prayers.
He cannot help it for his heart,
Sometimes to act the parson's part;
Quotes from the Bible many a sentence,
That moves his patients to repentance :
And, when his medicines do no good,
Supports their minds with heavenly food,
At which, however well intended,
He hears the clergy are offended;
And grown so bold behind his back,
To call him hypocrite and quack.
In his own church he keeps a seat;
Says grace before and after meat;
And calls, without affecting airs,
His household twice a day to prayers.
He shuns apothecaries' shops,
And hates to cram the sick with slops;
He scorns to make his art a trade;
Nor bribes my lady's favourite maid:
Old nurse-keepers would never hire,
To recommend him to the squire;
Which others, whom he will not name,
Have often practis'd to their shame.
The statesman tells you with a sueer,
His fault is to be too sincere;
And, having no sinister ends,
Is apt to disoblige his friends.
The nation's good, his master's glory,
Without regard to Whig or Tory,
Were all the schemes he had in view:
Yet he was seconded by few;
Though some had spread a thousand lies,
'Twas he defeated the excise.
'Twas known, though he had borne aspersion,
That standing troops were his aversion:
His practice was, in every station,
To serve the king, and please the nation.
Though hard to find in every case
The fittest man to fill a place:
His promises he ne'er forgot,
But took memorials on the spot:
His enemies, for want of charity,
Said, he affected popularity:
"Tis true, the people underst ood,
That all he did was for their good;
Their kind affections he has try'd;
No love is lost on either side.
He came to court with fortune clear,
Which now he runs out every year:
Must, at the rate that he goes on,
Inevitably be undone:
Oh! if his Majesty would please
To give him but a writ of ease,
Would grant him licence to retire,
As it hath long been his desire;
By fair accounts it would be found,
He's poorer by ten thousand pound.
He owns, and hopes it is no sin,
He ne'er was partial to his kin;
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