The pauper’s friend, their foe, arose and spoke again. } Fiercely he cried, “Your garbled statements show That you determine we shall nothing know; But we shall bring your hidden crimes to light, Give you to shame, and to the poor their right.” Virtue like this might some approval ask-- But Conscience sternly said, “You wear a mask!” “At least,” said Fulham, “if I have a view 230 To serve myself, I serve the public too.” Fulham, though check’d, retain’d his former zeal, And this the cautious rogues began to feel. “Thus will he ever bark,” in peevish tone An elder cried--“the cur must have a bone.” They then began to hint--and to begin Was all they needed: it was felt within; In terms less veil’d an offer then was made, Though distant still, it fail’d not to persuade; More plainly then was every point proposed, 240 Approved, accepted, and the bargain closed. “Th’ exulting paupers hail’d their friend’s success, And bade adieu to murmurs and distress.” Alas! their friend had now superior light, And, view’d by that, he found that all was right; “There were no errors, the disbursements small; This was the truth, and truth was due to all.” And rested Conscience? No! she would not rest, Yet was content with making a protest. Some acts she now with less resistance bore, 250 Nor took alarm so quickly as before; Like those in towns besieged, who every ball At first with terror view, and dread them all; But, grown familiar with the scenes, they fear The danger less, as it approaches near: So Conscience, more familiar with the view Of growing evils, less attentive grew; Yet he who felt some pain, and dreaded more, Gave a peace-offering to the angry poor. Thus had he quiet--but the time was brief, 260 From his new triumph sprang a cause of grief; In office join’d, and acting with the rest, He must admit the sacramental test. Now, as a sectary, who had all his life, As he supposed, been with the church at strife (No rules of hers, no laws had he perused, Nor knew the tenets he by rote abused); Yet Conscience here arose more fierce and strong, Than when she told of robbery and wrong; “Change his religion! No! he must be sure 270 That was a blow no conscience could endure.” Though friend to virtue, yet she oft abides In early notions, fix’d by erring guides, And is more startled by a call from those, Than when the foulest crimes her rest oppose; By error taught, by prejudice misled, She yields her rights, and fancy rules instead; When Conscience all her stings and terror deals, Not as truth dictates, but as fancy feels; And thus within our hero’s troubled breast, 280 Crime was less torture than the odious test.