In man or woman, but far most in man, And most of all in man that ministers And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe All affectation. ’Tis my perfect scorn; Object of my implacable disgust. What!—will a man play tricks, will he indulge A silly fond conceit of his fair form And just proportion, fashionable mien, And pretty face, in presence of his God? Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes, As with the diamond on his lily hand, And play his brilliant parts before my eyes, When I am hungry for the Bread of Life? He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames His noble office, and, instead of truth, Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock! Therefore, avaunt, all attitude and stare And start theatric, practised at the glass. I seek divine simplicity in him Who handles things divine; and all beside, Though learned with labour, and though much admired By curious eyes and judgments ill-informed, To me is odious as the nasal twang Heard at conventicle, where worthy men, Misled by custom, strain celestial themes Through the prest nostril, spectacle-bestrid. Some, decent in demeanour while they preach, That task performed, relapse into themselves, And having spoken wisely, at the close Grow wanton, and give proof to every eye— Whoe’er was edified themselves were not. Forth comes the pocket mirror. First we stroke An eyebrow; next compose a straggling lock; Then with an air, most gracefully performed, Fall back into our seat; extend an arm, And lay it at its ease with gentle care, With handkerchief in hand, depending low: The better hand, more busy, gives the nose Its bergamot, or aids the indebted eye With opera glass to watch the moving scene, And recognise the slow-retiring fair. Now this is fulsome, and offends me more Than in a Churchman slovenly neglect And rustic coarseness would. A heavenly mind May be indifferent to her house of clay, And slight the hovel as beneath her care. But how a body so fantastic, trim, And quaint in its deportment and attire, Can lodge a heavenly mind—demands a doubt. He that negotiates between God and man, As God’s ambassador, the grand concerns Of judgment and of mercy, should beware Of lightness in his speech. ’Tis pitiful To court a grin, when you should woo a soul; To break a jest, when pity would inspire Pathetic exhortation; and to address The skittish fancy with facetious tales, When sent with God’s commission to the heart. So did not Paul. Direct me to a quip Or merry turn in all he ever wrote, And I consent you take it for your text, Your only one, till sides and benches fail. No: he was serious in a serious cause, And understood too well the weighty terms That he had ta’en in charge. He would not stoop To conquer those by jocular exploits, Whom truth and soberness assailed in vain.