We all confess we are offending men. In lashing sin, of every stroke beware, For sinners feel, and sinners you must spare; In general satire, every man perceives A slight attack, yet neither fears nor grieves; But name th’ offence, and you absolve the rest, And point the dagger at a single breast. “Yet are there sinners of a class so low, That you with safety may the lash bestow: Poachers, and drunkards, idle rogues, who feed 250 At others’ cost, a mark’d correction need; And all the better sort, who see your zeal, Will love and reverence for their pastor feel; Reverence for one who can inflict the smart, And love, because he deals them not a part. “Remember well what love and age advise; A quiet rector is a parish prize, Who in his learning has a decent pride; Who to his people is a gentle guide; Who only hints at failings that he sees; } 260 Who loves his glebe, his patron, and his ease, } And finds the way to fame and profit is to please.” } The nephew answer’d not, except a sigh And look of sorrow might be term’d reply; He saw the fearful hazard of his state, And held with truth and safety strong debate; Nor long he reason’d, for the zealous youth Resolved, though timid, to profess the truth; And, though his friend should like a lion roar, Truth would he preach, and neither less nor more. 270 The bells had toll’d--arrived the time of prayer, The flock assembled, and the ’squire was there: And now can poet sing, or proseman say, The disappointment of that trying day? As he who long had train’d a favourite steed (Whose blood and bone gave promise of his speed), Sanguine with hope, he runs with partial eye O’er every feature, and his bets are high; Of triumph sure, he sees the rivals start, And waits their coming with exulting heart; 280 Forestalling glory, with impatient glance, And sure to see his conquering steed advance; The conquering steed advances--luckless day! A rival’s Herod bears the prize away; Nor second his, nor third, but lagging last, With hanging head he comes, by all surpass’d; Surprise and wrath the owner’s mind inflame, Love turns to scorn, and glory ends in shame:-- Thus waited, high in hope, the partial ’squire, Eager to hear, impatient to admire. 290 When the young preacher in the tones that find A certain passage to the kindling mind, With air and accent strange, impressive, sad, Alarm’d the judge--he trembled for the lad; But when the text announced the power of grace, } Amazement scowl’d upon his clouded face, } At this degenerate son of his illustrious race; } Staring he stood, till hope again arose, That James might well define the words he chose: