Of Academus-is this falfe or true?
Is Chrift the abler teacher, or the schools?
If Christ, then why refort at ev'ry turn
To Athens or to Rome, for wifdom short Of man's occasions, when in him refide Grace, knowledge, comfort-an unfathom'd store? How oft, when Paul has ferv'd us with a text, Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully, preach'd! Men that, if now alive, would fit content And humble learners of a Saviour's worth, Preach it who might. Such was their love of truth, Their thirst of knowledge, and their candour too!
And thus it is. The paftor, either vain By nature, or by flatt'ry made so, taught To gaze at his own splendour, and t' exalt Absurdly, not his office, but himself; Or unenlighten'd, and too proud to learn; Or vicious, and not therefore apt to teach; Perverting often, by the stress of lewd
And loofe example, whom he should instruct; Exposes, and holds up to broad disgrace, The nobleft function, and difcredits much The brightest truths that man has ever feen. For ghoftly counsel; if it either fall
Below the exigence, or be not back'd With show of love, at least with hopeful proof Of fome fincerity on th' giver's part;
Or be dishonour'd, in th' exterior form
And mode of its conveyance, by such tricks As move derision, or by foppish airs And hiftrionic mumm'ry, that let down The pulpit to the level of the stage; Drops from the lips a disregarded thing.
The weak perhaps are mov'd, but are not taught, While prejudice in men of stronger minds
Takes deeper root, confirm'd by what they fee. A relaxation of religion's hold
Upon the roving and untutor'd heart
Soon follows, and, the curb of confcience snapt,
The laity run wild.-But do they now? Note their extravagance, and be convinc'd.
As nations, ignorant of God, contrive A wooden one, so we, no longer taught By monitors that mother church supplies, Now make our own. Pofterity will afk (If e'er pofterity see verse of mine) Some fifty or an hundred luftrums hence, What was a monitor in George's days? My very gentle reader, yet unborn, Of whom I needs must augur better things, Since heav'n would fure grow weary of a world Productive only of a race like our's,
A monitor is wood-plank shaven thin.
We wear it at our backs. There, closely brac'd And neatly fitted, it compresses hard
The prominent and most unsightly bones,
And binds the shoulders flat. We prove its use Sov'reign and most effectual to secure
A form, not now gymnaftic as of yore, From rickets and distortion, else our lot. But, thus admonish'd, we can walk erect- One proof at least of manhood! while the friend Sticks close, a Mentor worthy of his charge.
Our habits, costlier than Lucullus wore, And by caprice as multiplied as his, Just please us while the fashion is at full, But change with ev'ry moon. The sycophant, Who waits to dress us, arbitrates their date; Surveys his fair reversion with keen eye; Finds one ill made, another obfolete, This fits not nicely, that is ill conceiv'd; And, making prize of all that he condemns, With our expenditure defrays his own. Variety's the very fpice of life, That gives it all its flavour. We have run Through ev'ry change that fancy at the loom, Exhausted, has had genius to fupply; And, studious of mutation still, difcard
A real elegance, a little us'd,
For monftrous novelty and strange disguife.
We facrifice to dress, till household joys
And comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry,
And keeps our larder lean; puts out our fires;
And introduces hunger, froft, and wo,
Where peace and hofpitality might reign. What man that lives, and that knows how to live, Would fail t' exhibit at the public shows A form as fplendid as the proudeft there, Though appetite raise outcries at the cost? A man o' th' town dines late, but foon enouglı, With reasonable forecast and dispatch, T' insure a fide-box station at half price. You think, perhaps, so delicate his drefs, His daily fare as delicate, Alas! He picks clean teeth, and, busy as he seems With an old tavern quill, is hungry yet! The rout is folly's circle, which she draws With magic wand. So potent is the spell,
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