Now basket up the family of plagues That waste our vitals. Peculation, sale Of honour, perjury, corruption, frauds By forgery, by subterfuge of law, By tricks and lies, as numerous and as keen As the necessities their authors feel; Then cast them, closely bundled, every brat At the right door. Profusion is its sire. Profusion unrestrained, with all that’s base In character, has littered all the land, And bred within the memory of no few A priesthood such as Baal’s was of old, A people such as never was till now. It is a hungry vice:—it eats up all That gives society its beauty, strength, Convenience, and security, and use; Makes men mere vermin, worthy to be trapped And gibbeted, as fast as catchpole claws Can seize the slippery prey; unties the knot Of union, and converts the sacred band That holds mankind together to a scourge. Profusion, deluging a state with lusts Of grossest nature and of worst effects, Prepares it for its ruin; hardens, blinds, And warps the consciences of public men Till they can laugh at virtue; mock the fools That trust them; and, in the end, disclose a face That would have shocked credulity herself, Unmasked, vouchsafing this their sole excuse;— Since all alike are selfish, why not they? This does Profusion, and the accursed cause Of such deep mischief has itself a cause. In colleges and halls, in ancient days, When learning, virtue, piety, and truth Were precious, and inculcated with care, There dwelt a sage called Discipline. His head, Not yet by time completely silvered o’er, Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth, But strong for service still, and unimpaired. His eye was meek and gentle, and a smile Played on his lips, and in his speech was heard Paternal sweetness, dignity, and love. The occupation dearest to his heart Was to encourage goodness. He would stroke The head of modest and ingenuous worth, That blushed at its own praise, and press the youth Close to his side that pleased him. Learning grew Beneath his care, a thriving, vigorous plant; The mind was well informed, the passions held Subordinate, and diligence was choice. If e’er it chanced, as sometimes chance it must, That one among so many overleaped The limits of control, his gentle eye Grew stern, and darted a severe rebuke; His frown was full of terror, and his voice Shook the delinquent with such fits of awe As left him not, till penitence had won Lost favour back again, and closed the breach. But Discipline, a faithful servant long, Declined at length into the vale of years; A palsy struck his arm, his sparkling eye Was quenched in rheums of age, his voice unstrung Grew tremulous, and moved derision more Than reverence in perverse, rebellious youth. So colleges and halls neglected much Their good old friend, and Discipline at length,