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Your sentence and mine differ. What's a name?
The truth is, (if the truth may suit your ear,
But why before us protestants produce An Indian mystic, or a French recluse ? Their sin is plain ; but what have we to fear, Reform’d, and well instructed? You shall hear. Yon ancient prude, whose wither’d features show She might be young some forty years ago, Her elbows pinion'd close upon her hips, Her head erect, her fan upon her lips,
Her eye-brows arch'a, her eyes both gone astray
She, half an angel in her own account, Doubts not, hereafter, with the saints to mount, Though not a grace appears, on strictest search, But that she fasts, and, item, goes to church. Conscious of age, she recollects her youth, And tells, not always with an eye to truth, Who spann'd her waist, and who, where'er he came, Scrawl'd upon glass Miss Bridget's lovely name; Who stole her slipper, fill'd it with tokay, And drank the little bumber every day. Of temper as envenom'd as an asp; Censorious, and her every word a wasp; In faithful memory she records the crimes, Or real, or fictitious, of the times ; Laughs at the reputations she has torn, And holds them, dangling at arm's length, in scorn. Such are the fruits of sanctimonious pride, Of malice fed while flesh is mortified : Take, Madam, the reward of all your prayers, Where hermits and where bramins meet with theirs; Your portion is with them.-Nay, never frown ; But, if you please, some fathoms lower down.
Artist, attend ! your brushes and your paintProduce them-take a chair-now draw a saint. Oh, sorrowful and sad! the streaming tears Channel her cheeks--a Niobe
! Is this a saint? Throw tints and all
What purpose has the King of saints in view
His Master's interest and his own, combin'd,
Man's obligations infinite, of course His life should prove that he perceives their force : His utmost he can render is but smallThe principle and motive all in all. You have two servants-Tom, an arch, sly rogue, From top to toe the Geta now in
vogue, Genteel in figure, easy in address, Moves without noise, and swift as an express, Reports a message with a pleasing 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 spark'tis all mere sharper's play ; He likes your house, your housemaid, and your pay; Reduce his wages, or get rid of her, Tom quits you with Your most obedient, Sir.
The dinner serv'd, Charles takes his usual stand, Watches your eye, anticipates command ; Sighs, if, perhaps, your appetite should fail; And, if he but suspects a frown, turns pale ; Consults, all day, your interest and your ease, Richly rewarded, if he can but please ; And, proud to make his firm attachment know, To save your life, would nobly risk his own.
Now which stands highest in your serious thought? Charles, without doubt, say you—and so he ought ; One act, that from a thankful heart proceeds, Excels ten thousand mercenary deeds.
Thus Heaven approves, as honest and sincere, The work of generous loye and filial fear ; But, with averted eyes, th' omniscient Judge Scorns the base bireling, and the slavish drudge. Where dwell these matchless saints ? old Curio cries. Even at your side, Sir, and before your eyes, The favour'd few-th' enthusiasts you despise, And pleas'd at heart, because, on holy ground Sometimes a canting hypocrite is found, Reproach a people with his single fall, And cast his filthy raiment at them all. Attend !-an apt similitude shall show Whence springs the conduct that offends you so.
See where it smokes along the sounding plain, Blown all aslant, a driving, dashing rain, Peal upon peal redoubling all around, Shakes it again, and faster, to the ground ; Now flashing wide, now glancing as in play, Swift beyond thought the lightnings dart away. Ere get it came, the traveller urg'd his steed, And hurried, but with unsuccessful speed; Now, drench'd throughout, and hopeless of his case, He drops the rein, and leaves him to his pace. Suppose, unlook'd-for in a scene so rude, Long bid by interposing hill or wood,