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النشر الإلكتروني

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;
Save that his scent is less acute than theirs,
For persevering chase, and headlong leaps,
True beagle as the staunchest hound he keeps.
Charg'd with the folly of his life's mad scene,
He takes offence, and wonders what you mean;
The joy the danger and the toil o'erpays-

"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,
Unmiss'd but by his dogs and by his groom.

Ye clergy, while your orbit is your place,
Lights of the World and stars of human race;
But, if eccentric ye forsake your sphere,
Prodigies ominous, and view'd with fear;
The comet's baneful influence is a dream;

100

Yours real and pernicious in th' extreme.
What then!—are appetites and lusts laid down
With the same ease, that man puts on his

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;
Or, if it does not, brands him to the last

What atheists call him-a designing knave,

A mere church juggler, hypocrite, and slave.

1

Oh, laugh or mourn with me the rueful jest,
A cassock'd huntsman, and a fiddling priest;
He from Italian songsters takes his cue:
Set Paul to music, he shall quote him too.

110

He takes the field, the master of the pack
Cries-Well done saint! and claps him on the back.
Is this the path of sanctity? Is this

To stand a waymark in the road to bliss?
Himself a wand'rer from the narrow way,

His silly sheep, what wonder if they stray?
Go, cast your orders at your bishop's feet, 120
Send your dishonour'd gown to Monmouth street!
The sacred function in your hands is made-
Sad sacrilege! no function, but a trade!

Occiduus is a pastor of renown,

When he has pray'd and preach'd the sabbath down,
With wire and catgut he concludes the day,
Quav'ring and semiquav'ring care away.
The full concerto swells upon your ear;
All elbows shake. Look in, and you

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!
Ecstasy sets her stamp on ev'ry mien;

Chins fall'n, and not an eyeball to be seen.
Still I insist, though music heretofore

Has charm'd me much, (not ev'n Occiduus more)
Love, joy, and peace make harmony more meet
For sabbath ev'nings, and perhaps as sweet.

Will not the sickliest sheep of ev'ry flock
Resort to this example as a rock;

There stand, and justify the foul abuse
Of sabbath hours with plausible excuse;

If apostolic gravity be free,

To play the fool on Sundays, why not we?
If he the tinkling harpsichord regards

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;
Nobly distinguish'd above all the six

By deeds in which the World must never mix.
Hear him again. He calls it a delight,

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.

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