The rout is Folly's circle, which she draws
With magic wand. So potent is the spell,
That none, decoy'd into that fatal ring,
Unless by Heav'n's peculiar grace, escape.
There we grow early gray, but never wise;

There form connexions, but acquire no friend;
Solicit pleasure hopeless of success;

Waste youth in occupations only fit

For second childhood, and devote old age

To sports, which only childhood could excuse.
There they are happiest, who dissemble best
Their weariness; and they the most polite,
Who squander time and treasure with a smile,

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Though at their own destruction. She, that asks Her dear five hundred friends, contemns them all, And hates their coming. They (what can they less?)

Make just reprisals; and with cringe, and shrug, And bow obsequious, hide their hate of her..

All catch the frenzy, downward from her grace,

Whose flambeaux flash against the morning skies,
And gild our chamber ceilings as they pass,
To her, who, frugal only that her thrift

May feed excesses she can ill afford,

Is hackney'd home unlackey'd; who, in haste
Alighting, turns the key in her own door,
And, at the watchman's lantern borr'wing light,
Finds a cold bed her only comfort left.

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Wives beggar husbands, husbands starve their wives,

On Fortune's velvet altar off'ring up

Their last poor pittance-Fortune, most severe
Of goddesses, yet known, and costlier far

Than all, that held their routs in Juno's Heav'n.

So fare we in this prisonhouse the World;
And 'tis a fearful spectacle to see

So many maniacs dancing in their chains.

They gaze upon the links, that hold them fast,
With eyes of anguish, execrate their lot,

Then shake them in despair, and dance again!

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Now basket up the family of plagues,

That waste our vitals; peculation, sale
Of honour, perjury, corruption, frauds
By forgery, by subterfuge of law,

By tricks and lies as num'rous and as keen
As the necessities their authors feel;
Then cast them, closely bundled, ev'ry brat
At the right door. Profusion is the sire.
Profusion unrestrain'd with all that's base
In character has litter'd all the land,
And bred, within the mem'ry of no few,
A priesthood, such as Baal's was of old,
A people, such as never was till now.
It is a hungry vice:-it eats up all,
That gives society it's beauty, strength,
Convenience, and security, and use:
Makes men mere vermin, worthy to be trapp'd

And gibbeted, as fast as catchpole claws

Can seize the slipp'ry prey: unties the knot

Of union, and converts the sacred band,

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That holds mankind together, to a scourge.
Profusion deluging a state with lusts
Of grossest nature and of worst effects,
Prepares it for it's ruin: hardens, blinds,

And warps, the consciences of public men,
Till they can laugh at virtue; mock the fools
That trust them; and in th' end disclose a face,
That would have shock'd Credulity herself,
Unmask'd, vouchsafing this their sole excuse-
Since all alike are selfish, why not they?
This does Profusion, and th' accursed cause
Of such deep mischief has itself a cause.

In colleges and halls in ancient days, When learning, virtue, piety, and truth, Were precious, and inculcated with care,

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There dwelt a sage call'd Discipline. His head, Not yet by time completely silver'd o'er,

Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth,

But strong for service still, and unimpair'd.

His eye was meek and gentle, and a smile

Play'd on his lips; and in his speech was heard Paternal sweetness, dignity, and love.

The occupation dearest to his heart

Was to encourage goodness. He would stroke The head of modest and ingenuous worth,

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That blush'd at it's own praise; and press the youth
Close to his side, that pleas'd him. Learning grew
Beneath his care a thriving vig'rous plant;

The mind was well inform'd, the passions held
Subordinate, and diligence was choice.

If e'er it chanc'd, as sometimes chance it must,
That one among so many overleap'd
The limits of control, his gentle eye
Grew stern, and darted a severe rebuke:

His frown was full of terrour, and his voice

Shook the delinquent with such fits of awe,
As left him not, till penitence had won

Lost favour back again, and clos'd the breach.
But Discipline, a faithful servant long,

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