His air, and tone, with all could sympathise. This brought him fees, and not a man was he In weak compassion to refuse a fee. Yet though the Doctor’s purse was well supplied, Though patients came, and fees were multiplied, Some secret drain, that none presumed to know, 250 And few e’en guess’d, for ever kept it low. Some of a patient spake, a tender fair, Of whom the doctor took peculiar care, But not a fee; he, rather, largely gave, Nor spared himself, ’twas said, this gentle friend to save. Her case consumptive, with perpetual need Still to be fed, and still desire to feed; An eager craving, seldom known to cease, And gold alone brought temporary peace.— So, rich he was not; James some fear express’d, 260 Dear Doctor David would be yet distress’d; For if now poor, when so repaid his skill, What fate were his, if he himself were ill! In his religion, Doctor Dyson sought To teach himself—“A man should not be taught, Should not, by forms or creeds, his mind debase, That keep in awe an unreflecting race.” He heeded not what Clarke and Paley say, But thought himself as good a judge as they; Yet to the Church profess’d himself a friend, 270} And would the rector for his hour attend; } Nay, praise the learn’d discourse, and learnedly defend. } For, since the common herd of men are blind, He judged it right that guides should be assign’d; And that the few who could themselves direct Should treat those guides with honour and respect. He was from all contracted notions freed, But gave his Brother credit for his creed; And, if in smaller matters he indulged, ’Twas well, so long as they were not divulged. 280 Oft was the spirit of the Doctor tried, When his grave Sister wish’d to be his guide. She told him, “all his real friends were grieved To hear it said, how little he believed: Of all who bore the name she never knew One to his pastor or his church untrue; All have the truth with mutual zeal profess’d, And why, dear Doctor, differ from the rest?” “’Tis my hard fate,” with serious looks replied The man of doubt, “to err with such a guide.”— 290 “Then why not turn from such a painful state?”— The doubting man replied, “It is my fate.” Strong in her zeal, by texts and reasons back’d, In his grave mood the Doctor she attack’d; Cull’d words from Scripture to announce his doom, And bade him “think of dreadful things to come.” “If such,” he answer’d, “be that state untried, In peace, dear Martha, let me here abide; Forbear to insult a man whose fate is known, And leave to Heaven a matter all its own.” 300 In the same cause the Merchant, too, would strive; He ask’d, “Did ever unbeliever thrive? Had he respect? could he a fortune make? And why not then such impious men forsake?” “Thanks, my dear James, and be assured I feel, If not your reason, yet at least your zeal;