Like an infernal spirit, him who call’d, And, ere he vanished, would perform his part, Inflicting tortures on the wounded heart. 40 Of this but little from report we know; If you the progress of revenge can show, Give it, and all its horrors, if you please; We hear our neighbour’s sufferings much at ease. “Is it not so? For do not men delight— } We call them men—our bruisers to excite, } And urge with bribing gold, and feed them for the fight? } Men beyond common strength, of giant size, And threat’ning terrors in each other’s eyes; When in their naked, native force display’d, 50 Look answers look, affrighting and afraid; While skill, like spurs and feeding, gives the arm The wicked power to do the greater harm. Maim’d in the strife, the falling man sustains Th’ insulting shout, that aggravates his pains— Man can bear this; and shall thy hearers heed A tale of human sufferings? Come! proceed.” Thus urged, the worthy rector thought it meet Some moral truth, as preface, to repeat; Reflection serious—common-place, ’tis true; 60} But he would act as he was wont to do, } And bring his morals in his neighbour’s view. } “O! how the passions, insolent and strong, Bear our weak minds their rapid course along; Make us the madness of their will obey; Then die, and leave us to our griefs a prey!” Sir Owen Dale his fortieth year had seen, With temper placid, and with mind serene; Rich, early married to an easy wife, They led in comfort a domestic life. 70 He took of his affairs a prudent care, And was by early habit led to spare; Not as a miser, but in pure good taste, That scorn’d the idle wantonness of waste. In fact, the lessons he from prudence took Were written in his mind, as in a book: There what to do he read, and what to shun; And all commanded was with promptness done; He seem’d without a passion to proceed, Or one whose passions no correction need. 80 Yet some believed those passions only slept, And were in bounds by early habits kept; Curb’d as they were by fetters worn so long, There were who judged them a rebellious throng. To these he stood, not as a hero true, Who fought his foes, and in the combat slew, But one who all those foes, when sleeping, found, And, unresisted, at his pleasure bound. We thought—for I was one—that we espied Some indications strong of dormant pride: 90 It was his wish in peace with all to live; And he could pardon, but could not forgive; Nay, there were times when stern defiance shook The moral man, and threaten’d in his look. Should these fierce passions—so we reason’d—break Their long-worn chain, what ravage will they make! In vain will prudence then contend with pride, And reason vainly bid revenge subside; Anger will not to meek persuasion bend, Nor to the pleas of hope or fear attend; 100