To view thy tempting stores the heedless stop. By what strange names dost thou these baubles know, Which wantons wear, to make a sinful show? Hast thou in view these idle volumes placed To be the pander of a vicious taste? What's here? a book of dances!--you advance In goodly knowledge--John, wilt learn to dance? How! 'Go,' it says, and 'to the devil go! And shake thyself!' I tremble--but 'tis so; Wretch as thou art, what answer canst thou make? Oh! without question, thou wilt go and shake. What's here? 'The School for Scandal'--pretty schools! Well, and art thou proficient in the rules? Art thou a pupil? Is it thy design To make our names contemptible as thine? 'Old Nick, a novel!' oh! 'tis mighty well - A fool has courage when he laughs at hell; 'Frolic and Fun;' the Humours of Tim Grin;' Why, John, thou grow'st facetious in thy sin; And what?--'The Archdeacon's Charge!'--'tis mighty well - If Satan publish'd, thou wouldst doubtless sell: Jests, novels, dances, and this precious stuff To crown thy folly--we have seen enough; We find thee fitted for each evil work: Do print the Koran and become a Turk. "John, thou art lost; success and worldly pride O'er all thy thoughts and purposes preside, Have bound thee fast, and drawn thee far aside: Yet turn; these sin-traps from thy shop expel, Repent and pray, and all may yet be well. "And here thy wife, thy Dorothy behold, How fashion's wanton robes her form infold! Can grace, can goodness with such trappings dwell? John, thou hast made thy wife a Jezebel: See! on her bosom rests the sign of sin, The glaring proof of naughty thoughts within: What! 'tis a cross: come hither--as a friend, Thus from thy neck the shameful badge I rend." "Rend, if you dare," said Dighton; "you shall find A man of spirit, though to peace inclined; Call me ungrateful! have I not my pay At all times ready for the expected day? To share my plenteous board you deign to come, Myself your pupil, and my house your home: And shall the persons who my meat enjoy Talk of my faults, and treat me as a boy? Have you not told how Rome's insulting priests Led their meek laymen like a herd of beasts; And by their fleecing and their forgery made Their holy calling an accursed trade? Can you such acts and insolence condemn, Who to your utmost power resemble them? "Concerns it you what books I set for sale? The tale perchance may be a virtuous tale; And for the rest, 'tis neither wise nor just In you, who read not, to condemn on trust; Why should th' Archdeacon's Charge your spleen excite? He, or perchance th' Archbishop, may be right. "That from your meetings I refrain is true: I meet with nothing pleasant--nothing new; But the same proofs, that not one text explain, And the same lights, where all things dark remain; I thought you saints on earth--but I have found Some sins among you, and the best unsound: You have your failings, like the crowds below, And at your pleasure hot and cold can blow: