THE STRUGGLES OF CONSCIENCE.
I am a villain; yet I lie, I am not ;
Fool! of thyself speak well :-Fool! do not flatter.
My Conscience bath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale.
Richard III. Act V. Scene 3.
My Conscience is but a kind of hard Conscience,
The fiend gives the more friendly counsel.
Merchant of Venice, Act. II. Scene 2.
Thou hast it now-and I fear
Thou play'dst most foully for it.
Macbeth, Act III. Scene 1.
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd,
Pluck from the memory a rooted sinew,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the foul bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?
Oh! coward Conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
Richard III. Act V. Scene 3.
THE STRUGGLES OF CONSCIENCE.
A SERIOUS Toyman in the City dwelt,
Who much concern for his religion felt;
Reading, he chang'd his tenets, read again,
And various questions could with skill maintain;
Papist and Quaker if we set aside,
He had the road of every traveller tried;
There walk'd awhile, and on a sudden turn'd
Into some bye-way he had just discern'd:
He had a nephew, Fulham-Fulham went
His Uncle's way, with every turn content;
He saw his pious kinsman's watchful care,
*And thought such anxious pains his own might spare,
And he, the truth obtain'd, without the toil, might share.
In fact, young Fulham, though he little read,
Perceiv'd his Uncle was by fancy led?
And smil'd to see the constant care he took,
Collating creed with creed, and book with book.
At length the senior fix'd; I pass the sect
He call'd a Church, 'twas precious and elect;
Yet the seed fell not in the richest soil,
For few disciples paid the Preacher's toil;
All in an attic-room were wont to meet,
These few disciples at their Pastor's feet;
With these went Fulham, who, discreet and grave,
Follow'd the light his worthy Uncle gave;
Till a warm Preacher found a way t'impart
Awakening feelings to his torpid heart :
Some weighty truths, and of unpleasant kind,
Sank, though resisted, in his struggling mind;
He wish'd to fly them, but compell'd to stay,
Truth to the waking Conscience found her way;
For though the Youth was call'd a prudent lad,
And prudent was, yet serious faults he had;
Who now reflected—" Much am I surpris'd,
"I find these notions cannot be despis'd;
"No! there is something I perceive at last,
"Although my Uncle cannot hold it fast;
"Though I the strictness of these men reject,
"Yet I determine to be circumspect;
"This man alarms me, and I must begin
"To look more closely to the things within;
"These sons of zeal have I derided long,
"But now begin to think the laughers wrong;
"Nay! my good Uncle, by all teachers mov'd,
"Will be preferr'd to him who none approv❜d,
"Better to love amiss than nothing to have lov'd."
Such were his thoughts, when Conscience first began To hold close converse with th' awaken'd man:
He from that time reserv'd and cautious grew,
And for his duties felt obedience due;
Pious he was not, but he fear'd the pain
Of sins committed, nor would sin again.
Whene'er he stray'd, he found his Conscience rose,
Like one determin'd what was ill t' oppose,
What wrong t'accuse, what secret to disclose;
To drag forth every latent act to light,
And fix them fully in the actor's sight:
This gave him trouble, but he still confess'd
The labour useful, for it brought him rest.
The Uncle died, and when the Nephew read
The will, and saw the substance of the dead-
Five hundred guineas, with a stock in trade—
He much rejoic'd, and thought his fortune made;
Yet felt aspiring pleasure at the sight,
And for increase, increasing appetite:
Desire of profit, idle habits check'd,
(For Fulham's virtue was to be correct);
He and his Conscience had their compact made-
"Urge me with truth, and you will soon persuade;
"But not," he cried, " for mere ideal things
"Give me to feel those terror-breeding stings."
Let not such thoughts,' she said, 'your mind confound,
Trifles may wake me, but they never wound;
In them indeed there is a wrong and right,
But you will find me pliant and polite;
Not like a Conscience of the dotard kind, 'Awake to dreams, to dire offences blind: 'Let all within be pure, in all beside 'Be your own master, governor, and guide; 'Alive to danger, in temptation strong, ́ And I shall sleep our whole existence long.'
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