Lead to the bliss she promises the wise, Detach the soul from Earth, and speed her to the skies? Ye devotees to your ador'd employ, Enthusiasts, drunk with an unreal joy, Love makes the music of the blest above, Heav'n's harmony is universal love; And earthly sounds, though sweet and well com bin'd, And lenient as soft opiates to the mind, Leave vice and folly unsubdu'd behind. 80 Gray dawn appears; the sportsman and his train Speckle the bosom of the distant plain; 'Tis he, the Nimrod of the neighb'ring lairs; "Tis exercise, and health, and length of days. 90 Again impetuous to the field he flies; Leaps ev'ry fence but one, there falls and dies; Like a slain deer, the tumbril brings him home, Ye clergy, while your orbit is your place, 100 Yours real and pernicious in th' extreme. gown? Will av'rice and concupiscence give place, Charm'd by the sounds-Your Rev'rence, or Your Grace? No, but his own engagement binds him fast; What atheists call him-a designing knave, A mere church juggler, hypocrite, and slave. 1 Oh, laugh or mourn with me the rueful jest, 110 He takes the field, the master of the pack To stand a waymark in the road to bliss? His silly sheep, what wonder if they stray? Occiduus is a pastor of renown, When he has pray'd and preach'd the sabbath down, would swear The Babylonian tyrant with a nod Hadsummon'd them to serve his golden god. 130 So well that thought th' employment seems to suit, Psalt'ry and sackbut, dulcimer and flute. O fie! 'tis evangelical and pure: Observe each face, how sober and demure! Chins fall'n, and not an eyeball to be seen. Has charm'd me much, (not ev'n Occiduus more) Will not the sickliest sheep of ev'ry flock There stand, and justify the foul abuse If apostolic gravity be free, To play the fool on Sundays, why not we? As inoffensive, what offence in cards? 141 Strike up the fiddles, let us all be gay, Laymen have leave to dance, if parsons play. Oh Italy!-thy sabbaths will be soon 150 Our sabbaths, clos'd with mumm'ry and buffoon. Preaching and pranks will share the motley scene, Ours parcell'd out, as thine have ever been, God's worship and the mountebank between. What says the prophet? Let that day be blest With holiness and consecrated rest. Pastime and business both it should exclude, And bar the door the moment they intrude; By deeds in which the World must never mix. A day of luxury, observ'd aright, 160 When the glad soul is made Heav'n's welcome guest, Sits banquetting, and God provides the feast. But triflers are engag'd, and cannot come, Their answer to the call is-Not at home. |