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Heard at conventicle, where worthy men,
Misled by custom, ftrain celestial themes
Through the prest noftril, spectacle-bestrid.
Some, decent in demeanor while they preach,
That task perform'd, relapse into themselves,
And having spoken wifely, at the close

Grow wanton,

and give proof to ev'ry eyeWhoe'er was edified, themselves were not.

Forth comes the pocket mirror. First we stroke

An eye-brow; next, compose a straggling lock;
Then with an air, moft gracefully perform'd,
Fall back into our feat, extend an arm,
And lay it at its ease with gentle care,
With handkerchief in hand, depending low.
The better hand more bufy, gives the nose
Its bergamot, or aids th' indebted eye
With op'ra glass to watch the moving scene,
And recognize the flow-retiring fair.
Now this is fulfome; and offends me more

Than in a churchman flovenly neglect

And

And ruftic coarsenefs would. An heav'nly mind

May be indiff'rent to her house of clay,

And flight the hovel as beneath her care;
But how a body fo fantastic, trim,

And queint in its deportment and attire,
Can lodge an heav'nly mind-demands a doubt,

He that negotiates between God and man, As God's ambaffador, the grand concerns Of judgment and of mercy, should beware Of lightness in his speech. 'Tis pitiful To court a grin, when you should woo a foul; To break a jeft, when pity would inspire Pathetic exhortation; and t' addrefs

The skittish fancy with facetious tales,

When fent with God's commiffion to the heart.

So did not Paul. Direct me to a quip

Or

merry turn in all he ever wrote,

And I consent you take it for your text,

Your only one, till fides and benches fail.

No: he was ferious in a ferious caufe,

And understood too well the weighty terms

That he had ta'en in charge. He would not stoop To conquer thofe by jocular exploits,

Whom truth and foberness affail'd in vain.

Oh, popular applaufe! what heart of man
Is proof against thy fweet feducing charms?
The wifeft and the best feel urgent need
Of all their caution in thy gentleft gales;

But fwell'd into a gust-who then, alas!
With all his canvass fet, and inexpert,

And therefore heedlefs, can withstand thy power?
Praise from the rivel'd lips of toothless, bald
Decrepitude; and in the looks of lean

And craving poverty; and in the bow
Refpectful of the fmutch'd artificer,

Is oft too welcome, and may much disturb
The bias of the purpose. How much more
Pour'd forth by beauty fplendid and polite,

In language foft as adoration breathes?

Ah spare your idol! think him human ftill.
Charms he may have, but he has frailties too,
Doat not too much, nor spoil what ye admire.

All truth is from the fempiternal source
Of light divine. But Egypt, Greece, and Rome,
Drew from the ftream below. More favor'd, we
Drink, when we chufe it, at the fountain head.
To them it flow'd much mingled and defil'd
With hurtful error, prejudice, and dreams
Illufive of philofophy, so call'd,

But falfely. Sages after fages ftrove,
In vain, to filter off a chrystal draught

Pure from the lees, which often more enhanc'd

The thirst than flak'd it, and not seldom bred
Intoxication and delirium wild.

In vain they pufh'd enquiry to the birth

And spring-time of the world; afk'd, whence is man? Why form'd at all? And wherefore as he is?

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Where must he find his Maker? With what rites.

Adore him? Will he hear, accept, and bless?

Or does he fit regardless of his works?
Has man within him an immortal feed?

Or does the tomb take all? If he furvive

His afhes, where? and in what weal or woe?
Knots worthy of solution, which alone

A Deity could folve. Their answers vague,

And all at random, fabulous and dark,

Left them as dark themselves. Their rules of life
Defective and unfanction'd, prov'd too weak

To bind the roving appetite, and lead
Blind nature to a God not yet reveal'd.
'Tis Revelation fatisfies all doubts,
Explains all mysteries, except her own,
And fo illuminates the path of life,
That fools difcover it, and stray no more,
Now tell me, dignified and fapient sir,
My man of morals, nurtur'd in the fhades

Of

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