Thither decoy'd by blandishments-or worse,He'll tell-that step was mark'd with every curse ! Struck with disease-and blasted ere his prime,— And, daily, punish'd-for a transient crime.These each too well can paint the woes that wait, Unhallow'd love-from their peculiar state. What is the crime that in this land thrives not? God's holy name blasphem'd—his laws forgot:Even sacred oaths are now a mockery made,The scorn of wealth-the veriest scorn of trade.— Envy with Calumny-now holds her reign, Lying and falsehood-all that's low and mean,Ambition's little arts-here prosper well,-And every youth is told, would he excelHe must perform the low dissembler's part, His face at variance with his very heart :For such the path that fame and honour wait, That leads to honours-or to high estate.Ambition true-is banished from the shore, And singleness of heart- is found no more. Say then-what virtues we to these oppose, Civil and formal words produce-mere sounds :- A single place-which we should more esteem, A thing call'd Honour-takes Religion's place, Made up of folly-pregnant with disgrace; — For know-whoe'er thou art-whate'er thy name, True Honour and Religion are the same.This Honour-in the sword and pistol lie ;Such instruments-Religion's place supply.— If wife or sister-or a daughter fall To base design a prey-these cover all The faults-the veriest villain can enact.This, who can doubt-it is a stubborn fact.He who has practis'd on the guileless heart, And acted the deceiver's-graceless-part :There sown distress-and every poignant grief Almost too much for any one's belief, Rending the peace of mind-which all should bless, On Honour's field-and stretch him at his feet:- If he who dares do them-lets go the reins, And such the manners of our British Isles, No doubt-in every clime there are a few, Yet who can doubt the fulness of these times, END OF BOOK I. |