Ere I can fully to the fact agree; Valour and study may by order gain, By order sovereigns hold more steady reign; Through all the tribes of nature order runs, And rules around in systems and in suns: Still has the love of order found a place, With all that's low, degrading, mean, and base, With all that merits scorn, and all that meets disgrace - In the cold miser, of all change afraid; In pompous men in public seats obey'd; In humble placemen, heralds, solemn drones, Fanciers of flowers, and lads like Stephen Jones: Order to these is armour and defence, And love of method serves in lack of sense. For rustic youth could I a list produce Of Stephen's books, how great might be the use! But evil fate was theirs--survey'd, enjoy'd Some happy months, and then by force destroyed: So will'd the Fates--but these with patience read Had vast effect on Stephen's heart and head. This soon appear'd: within a single week He oped his lips, and made attempt to speak; He fail'd indeed--but still his Friend confess'd The best have fail'd, and he had done his best: The first of swimmers, when at first he swims, Has little use or freedom in his limbs; Nay, when at length he strikes with manly force, The cramp may seize him, and impede his course. Encouraged thus, our Clerk again essay'd The daring act, though daunted and afraid: Succeeding now, though partial his success, And pertness mark'd his manner and address, Yet such improvement issued from his books, That all discern'd it in his speech and looks: He ventured then on every theme to speak, And felt no feverish tingling in his cheek; His friend, approving, hail'd the happy change, The Clerks exclaim'd--"'Tis famous, and 'tis strange." Two years had pass'd; the Youth attended still (Though thus accomplish'd) with a ready quill: He sat th' allotted hours, though hard the case, While timid prudence ruled in virtue's place; By promise bound, the Son his letters penn'd To his good parent at the quarter's end. At first he sent those lines, the state to tell Of his own health, and hoped his friends were well; He kept their virtuous precepts in his mind, And needed nothing--then his name was sign'd: But now he wrote of Sunday-walks and views, Of actors' names, choice novels, and strange news; How coats were cut, and of his urgent need For fresh supply, which he desired with speed. The Father doubted, when these letters came, To what they tended, yet was loth to blame: "Stephen was once my duteous son, and now My most obedient--this can I allow? Can I with pleasure or with patience see A boy at once so heartless and so free?" But soon the kinsman heavy tidings told, That love and prudence could no more withhold: "Stephen, though steady at his desk, was grown A rake and coxcomb--this he grieved to own; His cousin left his church, and spent the day Lounging about in quite a heathen way; Sometimes he swore, but had indeed the grace To show the shame imprinted on his face: