The joy the danger and the toil o'erpays→→→
'Tis exercise, and health, and length of days.
Again impetuous to the field he flies;

Leaps ev'ry fence but one, there falls and dies;
Like a flain deer, the tumbrel brings him home,
Unmifs'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 forfake your sphere,
Prodigies ominous, and view'd with fear.

The comet's baneful influence is a dream;
Your's real, and pernicious in th' extreme.
What then!-are appetites and lufts laid down,
With the fame ease that man puts on his gown?

Will av'rice and concupifcence give place,

Charm'd by the founds-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 defigning knave,
A mere church juggler, hypocrite, and flave.

Oh, laugh or mourn with me the rueful jest,
A caffock'd huntsman and a fiddling priest!
He from Italian fongfters takes his cue:

Set Paul to mufic, he fhall quote him too.

He takes the field. The mafter of the pack
Cries-Well done, faint! and claps him on the back.
Is this the path of fanctity? Is this

To ftand a way-mark in the road to blifs?
Himself a wand'rer from the narrow way,

His filly fheep, what wonder if they stray?
Go, caft your orders at your bifhop's feet,
Send your dishonour'd gown to Monmouth-street!
The facred function in your hands is made-

Sad facrilege!-no function, but a trade!

Occiduus is a paftor of renown,

When he has pray'd and preach'd the fabbath down,

With wire and catgut he concludes the day,

Quav'ring and femiquav'ring care away.

The full concerto fwells upon your ear;

All elbows shake. Look in, and you would fwear

The Babylonian tyrant with a nod

Had fummon'd them to ferve his golden god.

So well that thought th' employment seems to fuit, Pfalt'ry and fackbut, dulcimer, and flute.

Oh fie! 'tis evangelical and pure:

Obferve each face, how fober and demure!

Ecftafy fets her ftamp on ev'ry mien;

Chins fall'n, and not an eye-ball to be seen.
Still I infift, though mufic heretofore

Has charm'd me much, (not e'en Occiduus more)
Love, joy, and peace, make harmony more meet
For fabbath ev'nings, and perhaps as fweet.

Will not the ficklieft sheep of ev'ry flock

Refort to this example as a rock;

There ftand, and justify the foul abuse

Of fabbath hours with plaufible excuse ?
If apoftolic gravity be free

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

As inoffenfive, what offence in cards?

Strike up the fiddles, let us all be gay!

Laymen have leave to dance, if parfons play.
Oh Italy!-thy fabbaths will be foon

Our fabbaths, clos'd with mumm'ry and buffoon.
Preaching and pranks will share the motley scene;
Our's parcell'd out, as thine have ever been,
God's worship and the mountebank between.
What fays the prophet? Let that day be blest
With holiness and confecrated rest.

Paftime and bus'ness both it should exclude,
And bar the door the moment they intrude;
Nobly diftinguifh'd above all the fix,

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

A day of luxury, obferv'd aright,

When the glad foul is made heav'n's welcome gueft,

Sits banqueting, and God provides the feast.
But triflers are engag'd and cannot come;

Their answer to the call is-Not at home.

Oh the dear pleasures of the velvet plain, The painted tablets, dealt and dealt again.

Cards, with what rapture, and the polish'd die,
The yawning chasm of indolence supply!

Then to the dance, and make the fober moon
Witness of joys that fhun the fight of noon.
Blame, cynic, if you can, quadrille or ball,

The fnug close party, or the fplendid hall,
Where night, down-ftooping from her ebon throne,
Views conftellations brighter than her own.

'Tis innocent, and harmless, and refin'd;
The balm of care, elyfium of the mind.
Innocent! Oh, if venerable time

Slain at the foot of pleasure be no crime,
Then, with his filver beard and magic wand,
Let Comus rife archbishop of the land;

Let him your rubric and your feasts prescribe,
Grand metropolitan of all the tribe.

Of manners rough, and coarse athletic caft,
The rank debauch fuits Clodio's filthy tafte.
Rufillus, exquifitely form'd by rule,

Not of the moral, but the dancing school,