He sought for comfort in his books, but read Without a plan or method in his head; What once amused, now rather made him sad, 420 What should inform, increased the doubts he had; Shame would not let him seek at church a guide, And from his meeting he was held by pride; His wife derided fears she never felt, And passing brethren daily censures dealt; Hope for a son was now for ever past, He was the first John Dighton, and the last; His stomach fail’d, his case the doctor knew, But said, “he still might hold a year or two.” “No more?” he said, “but why should I complain? 430 A life of doubt must be a life of pain. Could I be sure--but why should I despair? I’m sure my conduct has been just and fair; In youth indeed I had a wicked will, But I repented, and have sorrow still; I had my comforts, and a growing trade Gave greater pleasure than a fortune made; And, as I more possess’d and reason’d more, I lost those comforts I enjoy’d before, When reverend guides I saw my table round, 440 And in my guardian guest my safety found. Now sick and sad, no appetite, no ease, Nor pleasure have I, nor a wish to please; Nor views, nor hopes, nor plans, nor taste have I, Yet sick of life, have no desire to die.” He said, and died; his trade, his name is gone, And all that once gave consequence to John. Unhappy Dighton! had he found a friend, When conscience told him it was time to mend! A friend discreet, considerate, kind, sincere, 450 Who would have shown the grounds of hope and fear; And proved that spirits, whether high or low, No certain tokens of man’s safety show; Had reason ruled him in her proper place, And virtue led him while he lean’d on grace; Had he while zealous been discreet and pure, His knowledge humble, and his hope secure-- These guides had placed him on the solid rock, Where faith had rested, nor received a shock; But his, alas! was placed upon the sand, 460 Where long it stood not, and where none can stand. TALE XX. _THE BROTHERS._ A brother noble, Whose nature is so far from doing harms That he suspects none; on whose foolish honesty My [practices] ride easy. _King Lear_, Act I. Scene 2. He lets me feed with [his] hinds; bars me the place of brother. _As You Like It_, Act I. Scene 1. ’Twas I, but ’tis not I: I do not shame To tell you what I was, [. . . . . .] being [the thing] I am. _As You Like It_, Act IV. Scene 3. TALE XX. _THE BROTHERS._