Was his companions on the road to choose; With such he travell’d through the passing day, Friends of the hour, and walkers by the way; And from the sick, the poor, the halt, the blind, He learn’d the sorrows of his suffering kind. 530 He learn’d of many how unjust their fate, For their connexions dwelt in better state; They had relations famous, great or rich, Learned or wise, they never scrupled which; But while they cursed these kindred churls, would try To build their fame, and for their glory lie. Others delighted in misfortunes strange, The sports of fortune in her love for change. Some spoke of wonders they before had seen, When on their travels they had wandering been: 540 How they had sail’d the world about, and found The sailing plain, although the world was round; How they beheld for months th’ unsetting sun; } What deeds they saw! what they themselves had done!— } What leaps at Rhodes!—what glory then they won! } There were who spoke in terms of high disdain Of their contending against power in vain; Suffering from tyranny of law long borne; And life’s best spirits in contentions worn. Happy in this, th’ oppressors soon will die, 550} Each with the vex’d and suffering man to lie— } And thus consoled exclaim, ‘And is not sorrow dry?’ } But vice offended: when he met with those Who could a deed of violence propose, And cry, “Should they what we desire possess? } Should they deprive us, and their laws oppress?” } William would answer, “Ours is not redress.”— } “Would you oppression, then, for ever feel?”— “’Tis not my choice; but yet I must not steal.”— “So, first they cheat us, and then make their laws 560 To guard their treasures and to back their cause: What call you then, my friend, the rights of man?”— “To get his bread,” said William, “if he can; And if he cannot, he must then depend } Upon a Being he may make his friend.”— } “Make!” they replied; and conference had end. } But female vagrants would at times express A new-born pleasure at the mild address; His modest wish, clothed in accent meek, That they would comfort in religion seek. 570 “I am a sinful being!” William cried; “Then, what am I?” the conscious heart replied; And oft-times ponder’d in a pensive way, “He is not happy, yet he loves to pray.” But some would freely on his thoughts intrude, And thrust themselves ’twixt him and solitude; They would his faith and of its strength demand, And all his soul’s prime motions understand. “How!” they would say, “such we and such belief, Such trust in heaven, and yet on earth such grief! 580 Thou art almost, my friend—thou art not all; Thou hast not yet the self-destroying call; Thou hast a carnal wish, perhaps a will Not yet subdued—the root is growing still. There is the strong man yet that keeps his own,