No sight but misery, and no sound but woes; Your nobler faith, in loftier style convey'd, Shall be with praise and admiration paid: On points like these your hearers all admire A preacher's depth, and nothing more require. Shall we a studious youth to college send, That every clown his words may comprehend? 'Tis for your glory, when your hearers own Your learning matchless, but the sense unknown. "Thus honour gain'd, learn now to gain a friend, And the sure way is--never to offend; For, James, consider--what your neighbours do Is their own business, and concerns not you: Shun all resemblance to that forward race Who preach of sins before a sinner's face; And seem as if they overlook'd a pew, Only to drag a failing man in view: Much should I feel, when groaning in disease, If a rough hand upon my limb should seize; But great my anger, if this hand were found The very doctor's who should make it sound: So feel our minds, young Priest, so doubly feel, When hurt by those whose office is to heal. "Yet of our duties you must something tell, And must at times on sin and frailty dwell; Here you may preach in easy, flowing style, How errors cloud us, and how sins defile: Here bring persuasive tropes and figures forth, To show the poor that wealth is nothing worth; That they, in fact, possess an ample share Of the world's good, and feel not half its care: Give them this comfort, and, indeed, my gout In its full vigour causes me some doubt; And let it always, for your zeal, suffice That vice you combat, in the abstract--vice: The very captious will be quiet then; 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 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; 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. The bells had toll'd--arrived the time of prayer, The flock assembled, and the 'Squire was there: