The doubtful fear lest they should join the foe: Matrons of old, with whom he used to joke, Now pass his Honour with a pious look; Lasses, who met him once with lively airs, Now cross his way, and gravely walk to prayers: An old companion, whom he long has loved, By coward fears confess'd his conscience moved; As the third bottle gave its spirit forth, And they bore witness to departing worth, The friend arose, and he too would depart: "Man," said the 'Squire, "thou wert not wont to start; Hast thou attended to that foolish boy, Who would abridge all comforts, or destroy?" Yes, he had listen'd, who had slumber'd long, And was convinced that something must be wrong: But, though affected, still his yielding heart, And craving palate, took the Uncle's part; Wine now oppress'd him, who, when free from wine, Could seldom clearly utter his design; But though by nature and indulgence weak, Yet, half converted, he resolved to speak; And, speaking, own'd, "that in his mind the Youth Had gifts and learning, and that truth was truth: The 'Squire he honour'd, and for his poor part, He hated nothing like a hollow heart: But 'twas a maxim he had often tried, That right was right, and there he would abide; He honoured learning, and he would confess The preacher had his talents--more or less: Why not agree? he thought the young divine Had no such strictness--they might drink and dine; For them sufficient--but he said before That truth was truth, and he would drink no more." This heard the 'Squire with mix'd contempt and pain; He fear'd the Priest this recreant sot would gain. The favourite Nymph, though not a convert made, Conceived the man she scorn'd her cause would aid, And when the spirits of her lord were low, The lass presumed the wicked cause to show; "It was the wretched life his Honour led, And would draw vengeance on his guilty head; Their loves (Heav'n knew how dreadfully distressed The thought had made her!) were as yet unbless'd: And till the church had sanction'd"--Here she saw The wrath that forced her trembling to withdraw. Add to these outward ills some inward light, That showed him all was not correct and right: Though now he less indulged--and to the poor, From day to day, sent alms from door to door; Though he some ease from easy virtues found, Yet conscience told him he could not compound, But must himself the darling sin deny, Change the whole heart,--but here a heavy sigh Proclaim'd, "How vast the toil! and, ah! how weak am I!" James too has trouble--he divided sees A parish, once harmonious and at ease; With him united are the simply meek, The warm, the sad, the nervous, and the weak; The rest his Uncle's, save the few beside, Who own no doctrine, and obey no guide; With stragglers of each adverse camp, who lend Their aid to both, but each in turn offend. Though zealous still, yet he begins to feel The heat too fierce that glows in vulgar zeal; With pain he hears his simple friends relate