But ere his death some pious doubts arise, Some simple fears, which 'bold bad' men despise; Fain would he ask the parish-priest to prove His title certain to the joys above: For this he sends the murm'ring nurse, who calls The holy stranger to these dismal walls: And doth not he, the pious man, appear, He, 'passing rich with forty pounds a year?' Ah! no; a shepherd of a different stock, And far unlike him, feeds this little flock: A jovial youth, who thinks his Sunday's task As much as God or man can fairly ask; The rest he gives to loves and labours light, To fields the morning, and to feasts the night; None better skilled the noisy pack to guide, To urge their chase, to cheer them or to chide; A sportsman keen, he shoots through half the day, And, skilled at whist, devotes the night to play: Then, while such honours bloom around his head, Shall he sit sadly by the sick man's bed, To raise the hope he feels not, or with zeal To combat fears that e'en the pious feel? * * * * * And hark! the riots of the green begin, That sprang at first from yonder noisy inn; What time the weekly pay was vanished all, And the slow hostess scored the threatening wall; What time they asked, their friendly feast to close, A final cup, and that will make them foes; When blows ensue that break the arm of toil, And rustic battle ends the boobies' broil. Save when to yonder hall they bend their way, Where the grave justice ends the grievous fray; He who recites, to keep the poor in awe, The law's vast volume--for he knows the law:-- To him with anger or with shame repair The injured peasant and deluded fair. Lo! at his throne the silent nymph appears, Frail by her shape, but modest in her tears; And while she stands abashed, with conscious eye, Some favourite female of her judge glides by, Who views with scornful glance the strumpet's fate, And thanks the stars that made her keeper great; Near her the swain, about to bear for life One certain, evil, doubts 'twixt war and wife; But, while the faltering damsel takes her oath, Consents to wed, and so secures them both. Yet why, you ask, these humble crimes relate, Why make the poor as guilty as the great? To show the great, those mightier sons of pride, How near in vice the lowest are allied; Such are their natures and their passions such, But these disguise too little, those too much: So shall the man of power and pleasure see In his own slave as vile a wretch as he; In his luxurious lord the servant find His own low pleasures and degenerate mind; And each in all the kindred vices trace Of a poor, blind, bewildered, erring race; Who, a short time in varied fortune past, Die, and are equal in the dust at last. JOHN NEWTON A VISION OF LIFE IN DEATH