Long ere the charioteer of day had run
His morning courfe, the enchantment was begun ;
And he shall gild yon mountain's height again,
Ere yet the pleafing toil becomes a pain.
Is this the rugged path, the fteep afcent,
That virtue points to? Can a life thus spent
Lead to the blifs fhe promises the wife,
Detach the foul from earth, and speed her to the skies
Ye devotees to your adored employ,
Enthufiafts, drunk with an unreal joy,
Love makes the music of the bleft above,
Heaven's harmony is univerfal love
And earthly sounds, though sweet and well combined,
And lenient as foft opiates to the mind,
Leave vice and folly unfubdued behind.
Gray dawn appears; the sportsman and his train
Speckle the bofom of the diftant plain;
"Tis he, the Nimrod of the neighbouring lairs,
Save that his fcent is lefs acute than their's;
For perfevering chase, and headlong leaps,
True beagle as the staunchest hound he keeps.
Charged with the folly of his life's mad scene,
He takes offence, and wonders what you mean;
The joy the danger and the toil overpays—
'Tis exercise, and health, and length of days.
Again impetuous to the field he flies;
Leaps every fence but one, there falls and dies;
Like a flain deer, the tumbrel brings him home,
Unmiffed but by his dogs and by his groom.
Ye clergy, while your orbit is your place,
Lights of the world, and stars of human race;
But if eccentric ye forfake your sphere,
Prodigies ominous, and viewed with fear.
The comet's baneful influence is a dream;
Your's real and pernicious in the extreme.
What then are appetites and lufts laid down
With the fame ease that man puts on his gown?
Will avarice and concupifcence give place,
Charmed by the founds-Your Reverence, or Your
Grace?
No. But his own engagement binds him faft;
Or, if it does not, brands him to the laft
What atheists call him-a defigning knave,
A mere church juggler, hypocrite, and slave.
Oh, laugh or mourn with me the rueful jeft,
A caflocked huntsman, and a fiddling prieft!
He from Italian fongfters takes his cue:
Set Paul to mufic, he fhall quote him too.
He takes the field, the mafter of the pack
Crics--Well done faint! and claps him on the back.
Is this the path of fanctity? Is this
To ftand a way-mark in the road to blifs?
Himself a wanderer from the narrow way,
His filly sheep what wonder if they ftray?
Go, caft your orders at your Bishop's feet,
Send your dishonoured gown to Monmouth-ftreet!
The facred function in your hands is made-
Sad facrilege! no function, but a trade!
Occiduus is a paftor of renown,
When he has prayed and preached the fabbath down, With wire and catgut he concludes the day, Quavering and femiquavering care away.
The full concerto fwells upon your ear;
All elbows shake. Look in, and you would fwear
The Babylonian tyrant with a nod,
Had fummoned them to ferve his golden God.
So well that thought the employment seems to fuit,
Pfaltery and fackbut, dulcimer and flute.
Oh fie! 'tis evangelical and pure:
Obferve each face, how fober and demure!
Ecftafy fets her ftamp on every mien ;
Chins fallen, and not an eye-ball to be seen.
Still I infift, though mufic heretofore
Has charmed me much, (not even Occiduus more)
Love, joy, and peace make harmony more meet
For fabbath evenings, and perhaps as sweet.
Will not the ficklieft fheep of every flock
Refort to this example as a rock;
There ftand, and juftify the foul abuse
Of fabbath hours with plaufible excuse;
If apoftolic gravity be free
To play the fool on Sundays, why not we?
If he the tinkling harpsichord regards
As inoffenfive, what offence in cards?
Strike up the fiddles, let us all be gay,
Laymen have leave to dance, if parfons play.
Oh Italy!-Thy fabbaths will be foon
Our fabbaths, closed with mummery and buffoon.
Preaching and pranks will share the motley scene,
Our's parcelled out, as thine have ever been,
God's worship and the mountebank between.
What fays the prophet? Let that day be bleft
With holiness and confecrated reft.
Paftime and business both it should exclude,
And bar the door the moment they intrude:
Nobly diftinguished above all the fix
By deeds, in which the world must never mix.
Hear him again. He calls it a delight,
A day of luxury observed aright,
When the glad foul is made heaven's welcome gueft,
Sits banquetting, and God provides the feaft.
But triflers are engaged and cannot come;
Their answer to the call is-Not at home.
Oh the dear pleasures of the velvet plain,
The painted tablets, dealt and dealt again.
Cards with what rapture, and the polished die,
The yawning chasm of indolence fupply!
Then to the dance, and make the fober moon
Witness of joys that fhun the fight of noon.
Blame, cynic, if you can, quadrille or ball,
The fnug close party, or the splendid hall,
Where night, down-stooping from her ebon throne,
Views conftellations brighter than her own.
'Tis innocent, and harmless, and refined,
The balm of care, elyfium of the mind.
Innocent! Oh if venerable time
Slain at the foot of pleasure be no crime,
Then, with his filver beard and magic wand,
Let Comus rife Archbishop of the land;
Let him your rubric and your feafts prescribe,
Grand metropolitan of all the tribe.
Of manners rough, and coarse athletic caft,
The rank debauch fuits Clodio's filthy tafte.
Rufillus, exquifitely formed by rule,
Not of the moral but the dancing school,
Wonders at Clodio's follies, in a tone
As tragical, as others at his own.
He cannot drink five bottles, bilk the fcore,
Then kill a constable, and drink five more ;
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