TALE XIX.THE CONVERT.
THE CONVERT.
A tapster is a good trade, an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a wither’dserving-man a fresh tapster.Merry Wives of Windsor, Act I. Scene 3.A fellow, sir, that I have known go about with [troll-my-dames].Winter’s Tale, Act IV. Scene 3.I myself, sometimes leaving the fear of Heaven on the left hand,and [hiding] mine honour in my necessity, am forced to shuffle,to hedge, and to lurch.Merry Wives of Windsor, Act II. Scene 3.Yea, and at that very moment,Consideration like an angel came,And whipp’d th’ offending Adam out of him.Henry V.Act I. Scene 1.I have lived long enough: my May of lifeIs fall’n into the sear, the yellow leaf;And that which should accompany old age,As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,I must not look to have.Macbeth, Act V. Scene 3.
A tapster is a good trade, an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a wither’dserving-man a fresh tapster.Merry Wives of Windsor, Act I. Scene 3.A fellow, sir, that I have known go about with [troll-my-dames].Winter’s Tale, Act IV. Scene 3.I myself, sometimes leaving the fear of Heaven on the left hand,and [hiding] mine honour in my necessity, am forced to shuffle,to hedge, and to lurch.Merry Wives of Windsor, Act II. Scene 3.Yea, and at that very moment,Consideration like an angel came,And whipp’d th’ offending Adam out of him.Henry V.Act I. Scene 1.I have lived long enough: my May of lifeIs fall’n into the sear, the yellow leaf;And that which should accompany old age,As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,I must not look to have.Macbeth, Act V. Scene 3.
A tapster is a good trade, an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a wither’dserving-man a fresh tapster.Merry Wives of Windsor, Act I. Scene 3.
A fellow, sir, that I have known go about with [troll-my-dames].Winter’s Tale, Act IV. Scene 3.
I myself, sometimes leaving the fear of Heaven on the left hand,and [hiding] mine honour in my necessity, am forced to shuffle,to hedge, and to lurch.Merry Wives of Windsor, Act II. Scene 3.
Yea, and at that very moment,Consideration like an angel came,And whipp’d th’ offending Adam out of him.Henry V.Act I. Scene 1.
I have lived long enough: my May of lifeIs fall’n into the sear, the yellow leaf;And that which should accompany old age,As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,I must not look to have.Macbeth, Act V. Scene 3.
TALE XIX.
THE CONVERT.
Some to our hero have a hero’s nameDenied, because no father’s he could claim;Nor could his mother with precision stateA full fair claim to her certificate;On her own word the marriage must depend—A point she was not eager to defend.But who, without a father’s name, can raiseHis own so high, deserves the greater praise:The less advantage to the strife he brought,The greater wonders has his prowess wrought;10He who depends upon his wind and limbs,Needs neither cork or bladder when he swims;Nor will by empty breath be puff’d along,As not himself—but in his helpers—strong.Suffice it then, our hero’s name was clear,For, call John Dighton, and he answer’d, “Here!”But who that name in early life assign’dHe never found, he never tried to find;Whether his kindred were to John disgrace,Or John to them, is a disputed case;20His infant-state owed nothing to their care—His mind neglected, and his body bare;All his success must on himself depend,He had no money, counsel, guide, or friend;But, in a market-town, an active boyAppear’d, and sought in various ways employ;Who soon, thus cast upon the world, beganTo show the talents of a thriving man.With spirit high John learn’d the world to brave,And in both senses was a ready knave;30Knave [as of] old, obedient, keen, and quick,Knave as at present, skill’d to shift and trick.Some humble part of many trades he caught:He for the builder and the painter wrought;For serving-maids on secret errands ran,The waiter’s helper, and the hostler’s man;And, when he chanced (oft chanced he) place to lose,His varying genius shone in blacking shoes.A midnight fisher by the pond he stood;Assistant poacher, he o’erlook’d the wood;40At an election John’s impartial mindWas to no cause nor candidate confined;To all in turn he full allegiance swore,And in his hat the various badges bore;His liberal soul with every sect agreed;Unheard their reasons, he received their creed.At church he deign’d the organ-pipes to fill,And at the meeting sang both loud and shrill;But the full purse these different merits gain’d,By strong demands his lively passions drain’d;50Liquors he loved of each inflaming kind,To midnight revels flew with ardent mind;Too warm at cards, a losing game he play’d;To fleecing beauty his attention paid;His boiling passions were by oaths express’d,And lies he made his profit and his jest.Such was the boy, and such the man had been,But fate or happier fortune changed the scene;A fever seized him; “he should surely die—”He fear’d, and lo! a friend was praying by.60With terror moved, this teacher he address’d,And all the errors of his youth confess’d:The good man kindly clear’d the sinner’s wayTo lively hope, and counsell’d him to pray:Who then resolved, should he from sickness rise,To quit cards, liquors, poaching, oaths, and lies.His health restored, he yet resolved, and grewTrue to his masters, to their meeting true;His old companions at his sober face}Laugh’d loud, while he, attesting it was grace,}70With tears besought them all his calling to embrace. }To his new friends such convert gave applause,Life to their zeal, and glory to their cause;Though terror wrought the mighty change, yet strongWas the impression, and it lasted long;John at the lectures due attendance paid,A convert meek, obedient, and afraid.His manners strict, though form’d on fear alone,}Pleased the grave friends, nor less his solemn tone,}The lengthen’d face of care, the low and inward groan. }80The stern good men exulted, when they sawThose timid looks of penitence and awe;Nor thought that one so passive, humble, meek,Had yet a creed and principles to seek.The faith that reason finds, confirms, avows,The hopes, the views, the comforts she allows—These were not his, who by his feelings found,And by them only, that his faith was sound:Feelings of terror these, for evil past,Feelings of hope, to be received at last;90Now weak, now lively, changing with the day,These were his feelings, and he felt his way.Sprung from such sources, will this faith remainWhile these supporters can their strength retain?As heaviest weights the deepest rivers pass,While icy chains fast bind the solid mass:So, born of feelings, faith remains secure,Long as their firmness and their strength endure;But, when the waters in their channel glide,A bridge must bear us o’er the threat’ning tide;100Such bridge is reason, and there faith relies,Whether the varying spirits fall or rise.His patrons, still disposed their aid to lend,Behind a counter placed their humble friend;Where pens and paper were on shelves display’d,And pious pamphlets on the windows laid.By nature active, and from vice restrain’d,Increasing trade his bolder views sustain’d;His friends and teachers, finding so much zealIn that young convert whom they taught to feel,110His trade encouraged, and were pleased to findA hand so ready, with such humble mind.And now, his health restored, his spirits eased,He wish’d to marry, if the teachers pleased.They, not unwilling, from the virgin-classTook him a comely and a courteous lass;Simple and civil, loving and beloved,She long a fond and faithful partner proved;In every year the elders and the priestWere duly summon’d to a christening feast;120Nor came a babe, but by his growing trade,John had provision for the coming made;For friends and strangers all were pleased to dealWith one whose care was equal to his zeal.In human friendships, it compels a sigh,To think what trifles will dissolve the tie.John, now become a master of his trade,Perceived how much improvement might be made;And, as this prospect open’d to his view,A certain portion of his zeal withdrew;130His fear abated—“What had he to fear—His profits certain, and his conscience clear?”Above his door a board was placed by John,And “Dighton, stationer,” was gilt thereon;His window next, enlarged to twice the size,Shone with such trinkets as the simple prize;While in the shop with pious works were seenThe last new play, review, or magazine.In orders punctual, he observed—“The booksHe never read, and could he judge their looks?140Readers and critics should their merits try,He had no office but to sell and buy;Like other traders, profit was his care;Of what they print, the authors must beware.”He held his patrons and his teachers dear,But with his trade—they must not interfere.’Twas certain now that John had lost the dreadAnd pious thoughts that once such terrors bred;His habits varied, and he more inclinedTo the vain world, which he had half resign’d:150He had moreover in his brethren seen,Or he imagined, craft, conceit, and spleen;“They are but men,” said John, “and shall I thenFear man’s control, or stand in awe of men?’Tis their advice (their convert’s rule and law),And good it is—I will not stand in awe.”Moreover Dighton, though he thought of booksAs one who chiefly on the title looks,Yet sometimes ponder’d o’er a page to find,When vex’d with cares, amusement for his mind;160And by degrees that mind had treasured muchFrom works his teachers were afraid to touch.Satiric novels, poets bold and free,And what their writers term philosophy,All these were read; and he began to feelSome self-approval on his bosom steal.Wisdom creates humility, but heWho thus collects it, will not humble be.No longer John was fill’d with pure delightAnd humble reverence in a pastor’s sight,170Who, like a grateful zealot, listening stood,To hear a man so friendly and so good;But felt the dignity of one who madeHimself important by a thriving trade;And growing pride in Dighton’s mind was bredBy the strange food on which it coarsely fed.Their brother’s fall the grieving brethren heard,The pride indeed to all around appear’d;The world, his friends agreed, had won the soulFrom its best hopes, the man from their control.180To make him humble, and confine his viewsWithin their bounds, and books which they peruse,A deputation from these friends select,Might reason with him to some good effect;Arm’d with authority, and led by love,They might those follies from his mind remove;Deciding thus, and with this kind intent,A chosen body with its speaker went.“John,” said the teacher, “John, with great concernWe see thy frailty, and thy fate discern—190Satan with toils thy simple soul beset,And thou art careless, slumbering in the net;Unmindful art thou of thy early vow;Who at the morning-meeting sees thee now?Who at the evening? where is brother John?We ask—are answer’d, ‘To the tavern gone.’Thee on the sabbath seldom we behold;Thou canst not sing, thou’rt nursing for a cold:This from the churchmen thou hast learn’d, for theyHave colds and fevers on the sabbath-day;200When in some snug warm room they sit, and penBills from their ledgers, world-entangled men!“See with what pride thou hast enlarged thy shop;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 placedTo be the pander of a vicious taste?What’s here? a book of dances!—you advanceIn goodly knowledge—John, wilt learn to dance?210How! ‘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 designTo make our names contemptible as thine?‘Old Nick, a Novel!’ oh! ’tis mighty well—A fool has courage when he laughs at hell;220‘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,}230Have 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,240Thus from thy neck the shameful badge I rend.”“Rend, if you dare,” said Dighton; “you shall findA man of spirit, though to peace inclined;Call me ungrateful! have I not my payAt 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 enjoyTalk of my faults, and treat me as a boy?Have you not told how Rome’s insulting priests250Led their meek laymen like a herd of beasts;And by their fleecing and their forgery madeTheir 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 justIn 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.261“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 foundSome sins among you, and the best unsound;You have your failings, like the crowds below,And at your pleasure hot and cold can blow.When I at first your grave deportment saw,270(I own my folly,) I was fill’d with awe;You spoke so warmly, and it [seemed] so well,I should have thought it treason to rebel.Is it a wonder that a man like meShould such perfection in such teachers see;Nay, should conceive you sent from Heav’n to braveThe host of sin, and sinful souls to save?But, as our reason wakes, our prospects clear,And failings, flaws, and blemishes appear.“When you were mounted in your rostrum high,280We shrank beneath your tone, your frown, your eye;Then you beheld us abject, fallen, low,And felt your glory from our baseness grow;Touch’d by your words, I trembled like the rest,And my own vileness and your power confess’d:These, I exclaim’d, are men divine, and gazedOn him who taught, delighted and amazed;Glad, when he finish’d, if by chance he castOne look on such a sinner, as he pass’d.“But, when I view’d you in a clearer light,290And saw the frail and carnal appetite;When, at his humble pray’r, you deign’d to eat,Saints as you are, a civil sinner’s meat;When, as you sat contented and at ease,Nibbling at leisure on the ducks and peas,And, pleased some comforts in such place to find,You could descend to be a little kind;And gave us hope, in Heaven there might be roomFor a few souls beside your own to come;While this world’s good engaged your carnal view,300And like a sinner you enjoy’d it too:All this perceiving, can you think it strangeThat change in you should work an equal change?”“Wretch that thou art,” an elder cried, “and goneFor everlasting”——“Go thyself,” said John;“Depart this instant, let me hear no more;My house my castle is, and that my door.”The hint they took, and from the door withdrew,And John to meeting bade a long adieu;Attach’d to business; he in time became310A wealthy man of no inferior name.It seem’d, alas! in John’s deluded sight,That all was wrong because not all was right;And, when he found his teachers had their stains,Resentment and not reason broke his chains.Thus on his feelings he again relied,And never look’d to reason for his guide.Could he have wisely view’d the frailty shown,And rightly weigh’d their wanderings and his own,He might have known that men may be sincere,320Though gay and feasting on the savoury cheer;That doctrines sound and sober they may teach,Who love to eat with all the glee they preach;Nay, who believe the duck, the grape, the pine,Were not intended for the dog and swine.But Dighton’s hasty mind on every themeRan from the truth, and rested in th’ extreme;Flaws in his friends he found, and then withdrew(Vain of his knowledge) from their virtues too;Best of his books he loved the liberal kind,330That, if they improve not, still enlarge the mind;And found himself, with such advisers, freeFrom a fix’d creed, as mind enlarged could be.His humble wife at these opinions sigh’d,But her he never heeded till she died;He then assented to a last request,And by the meeting-window let her rest;And on her stone the sacred text was seen,Which had her comfort in departing been.Dighton with joy beheld his trade advance,340Yet seldom published, loth to trust to chance;Then wed a doctor’s sister—poor indeed,But skill’d in works her husband could not read;Who, if he wish’d new ways of wealth to seek,Could make her half-crown pamphlet in a week:This he rejected, though without disdain,And chose the old and certain way to gain.Thus he proceeded; trade increased the while,And fortune woo’d him with perpetual smile.On early scenes he sometimes cast a thought,350When on his heart the mighty change was wrought;And all the ease and comfort converts findWas magnified in his reflecting mind;Then on the teacher’s priestly pride he dwelt,That caused his freedom, but with this he feltThe danger of the free—for since that day,No guide had shown, no brethren join’d his way;Forsaking one, he found no second creed,But reading doubted, doubting what to read.Still, though reproof had brought some present pain,360The gain he made was fair and honest gain;He laid his wares indeed in public view,But that all traders claim a right to do.By means like these, he saw his wealth increase,And felt his consequence, and dwelt in peace.Our hero’s age was threescore years and five,When he exclaim’d, “Why longer should I strive?Why more amass, who never must beholdA young John Dighton to make glad the old?”(The sons he had to early graves were gone,370And girls were burdens to the mind of John.)“Had I [a] boy, he would our name sustain,That now to nothing must return again;But what are all my profits, credit, trade,And parish-honours?—folly and parade.”Thus Dighton thought, and in his looks appear’dSadness, increased by much he saw and heard.The brethren often at the shop would stay,And make their comments ere they walk’d away;They mark’d the window, fill’d in every pane380With lawless prints of reputations slain;Distorted forms of men with honours graced,And our chief rulers in derision placed:Amazed they stood, remembering well the days,When to be humble was their brother’s praise;When at the dwelling of their friend they stopp’dTo drop a word, or to receive it dropp’d;Where they beheld the prints of men renown’d,And far-famed preachers pasted all around;(Such mouths! eyes! hair! so prim! so fierce! so sleek!390They look’d as speaking what is wo to speak):On these the passing brethren loved to dwell—How long they spake! how strongly! warmly! well!What power had each to dive in mysteries deep,To warm the cold, to make the harden’d weep;To lure, to fright, to soothe, to awe the soul,And list’ning flocks to lead and to control!But now discoursing, as they linger’d near,They tempted John (whom they accused) to hearTheir weighty charge—“And can the lost-one feel,400As in the time of duty, love, and zeal:When all were summon’d at the rising sun,And he was ready with his friends to run;When he, partaking with a chosen few,Felt the great change, sensation rich and new?No! all is lost, her favours Fortune shower’dUpon the man, and he is overpower’d;The world has won him with its tempting storeOf needless wealth, and that has made him poor.Success undoes him; he has risen to fall,410Has gain’d a fortune, and has lost his all;Gone back from Sion, he will find his ageLoth to commence a second pilgrimage;He has retreated from the chosen track;And now must ever bear the burden on his back.”Hurt by such censure, John began to findFresh revolutions working in his mind;He sought for comfort in his books, but readWithout a plan or method in his head;What once amused, now rather made him sad,420What should inform, increased the doubts he had;Shame would not let him seek at church a guide,And from his meeting he was held by pride;His wife derided fears she never felt,And passing brethren daily censures dealt;Hope for a son was now for ever past,He was the first John Dighton, and the last;His stomach fail’d, his case the doctor knew,But said, “he still might hold a year or two.”“No more?” he said, “but why should I complain?430A life of doubt must be a life of pain.Could I be sure—but why should I despair?I’m sure my conduct has been just and fair;In youth indeed I had a wicked will,But I repented, and have sorrow still;I had my comforts, and a growing tradeGave greater pleasure than a fortune made;And, as I more possess’d and reason’d more,I lost those comforts I enjoy’d before,When reverend guides I saw my table round,440And in my guardian guest my safety found.Now sick and sad, no appetite, no ease,Nor pleasure have I, nor a wish to please;Nor views, nor hopes, nor plans, nor taste have I,Yet sick of life, have no desire to die.”He said, and died; his trade, his name is gone,And all that once gave consequence to John.Unhappy Dighton! had he found a friend,When conscience told him it was time to mend!A friend discreet, considerate, kind, sincere,450Who would have shown the grounds of hope and fear;And proved that spirits, whether high or low,No certain tokens of man’s safety show;Had reason ruled him in her proper place,And virtue led him while he lean’d on grace;Had he while zealous been discreet and pure,His knowledge humble, and his hope secure—These guides had placed him on the solid rock,Where faith had rested, nor received a shock;But his, alas! was placed upon the sand,460Where long it stood not, and where none can stand.
Some to our hero have a hero’s nameDenied, because no father’s he could claim;Nor could his mother with precision stateA full fair claim to her certificate;On her own word the marriage must depend—A point she was not eager to defend.But who, without a father’s name, can raiseHis own so high, deserves the greater praise:The less advantage to the strife he brought,The greater wonders has his prowess wrought;10He who depends upon his wind and limbs,Needs neither cork or bladder when he swims;Nor will by empty breath be puff’d along,As not himself—but in his helpers—strong.Suffice it then, our hero’s name was clear,For, call John Dighton, and he answer’d, “Here!”But who that name in early life assign’dHe never found, he never tried to find;Whether his kindred were to John disgrace,Or John to them, is a disputed case;20His infant-state owed nothing to their care—His mind neglected, and his body bare;All his success must on himself depend,He had no money, counsel, guide, or friend;But, in a market-town, an active boyAppear’d, and sought in various ways employ;Who soon, thus cast upon the world, beganTo show the talents of a thriving man.With spirit high John learn’d the world to brave,And in both senses was a ready knave;30Knave [as of] old, obedient, keen, and quick,Knave as at present, skill’d to shift and trick.Some humble part of many trades he caught:He for the builder and the painter wrought;For serving-maids on secret errands ran,The waiter’s helper, and the hostler’s man;And, when he chanced (oft chanced he) place to lose,His varying genius shone in blacking shoes.A midnight fisher by the pond he stood;Assistant poacher, he o’erlook’d the wood;40At an election John’s impartial mindWas to no cause nor candidate confined;To all in turn he full allegiance swore,And in his hat the various badges bore;His liberal soul with every sect agreed;Unheard their reasons, he received their creed.At church he deign’d the organ-pipes to fill,And at the meeting sang both loud and shrill;But the full purse these different merits gain’d,By strong demands his lively passions drain’d;50Liquors he loved of each inflaming kind,To midnight revels flew with ardent mind;Too warm at cards, a losing game he play’d;To fleecing beauty his attention paid;His boiling passions were by oaths express’d,And lies he made his profit and his jest.Such was the boy, and such the man had been,But fate or happier fortune changed the scene;A fever seized him; “he should surely die—”He fear’d, and lo! a friend was praying by.60With terror moved, this teacher he address’d,And all the errors of his youth confess’d:The good man kindly clear’d the sinner’s wayTo lively hope, and counsell’d him to pray:Who then resolved, should he from sickness rise,To quit cards, liquors, poaching, oaths, and lies.His health restored, he yet resolved, and grewTrue to his masters, to their meeting true;His old companions at his sober face}Laugh’d loud, while he, attesting it was grace,}70With tears besought them all his calling to embrace. }To his new friends such convert gave applause,Life to their zeal, and glory to their cause;Though terror wrought the mighty change, yet strongWas the impression, and it lasted long;John at the lectures due attendance paid,A convert meek, obedient, and afraid.His manners strict, though form’d on fear alone,}Pleased the grave friends, nor less his solemn tone,}The lengthen’d face of care, the low and inward groan. }80The stern good men exulted, when they sawThose timid looks of penitence and awe;Nor thought that one so passive, humble, meek,Had yet a creed and principles to seek.The faith that reason finds, confirms, avows,The hopes, the views, the comforts she allows—These were not his, who by his feelings found,And by them only, that his faith was sound:Feelings of terror these, for evil past,Feelings of hope, to be received at last;90Now weak, now lively, changing with the day,These were his feelings, and he felt his way.Sprung from such sources, will this faith remainWhile these supporters can their strength retain?As heaviest weights the deepest rivers pass,While icy chains fast bind the solid mass:So, born of feelings, faith remains secure,Long as their firmness and their strength endure;But, when the waters in their channel glide,A bridge must bear us o’er the threat’ning tide;100Such bridge is reason, and there faith relies,Whether the varying spirits fall or rise.His patrons, still disposed their aid to lend,Behind a counter placed their humble friend;Where pens and paper were on shelves display’d,And pious pamphlets on the windows laid.By nature active, and from vice restrain’d,Increasing trade his bolder views sustain’d;His friends and teachers, finding so much zealIn that young convert whom they taught to feel,110His trade encouraged, and were pleased to findA hand so ready, with such humble mind.And now, his health restored, his spirits eased,He wish’d to marry, if the teachers pleased.They, not unwilling, from the virgin-classTook him a comely and a courteous lass;Simple and civil, loving and beloved,She long a fond and faithful partner proved;In every year the elders and the priestWere duly summon’d to a christening feast;120Nor came a babe, but by his growing trade,John had provision for the coming made;For friends and strangers all were pleased to dealWith one whose care was equal to his zeal.In human friendships, it compels a sigh,To think what trifles will dissolve the tie.John, now become a master of his trade,Perceived how much improvement might be made;And, as this prospect open’d to his view,A certain portion of his zeal withdrew;130His fear abated—“What had he to fear—His profits certain, and his conscience clear?”Above his door a board was placed by John,And “Dighton, stationer,” was gilt thereon;His window next, enlarged to twice the size,Shone with such trinkets as the simple prize;While in the shop with pious works were seenThe last new play, review, or magazine.In orders punctual, he observed—“The booksHe never read, and could he judge their looks?140Readers and critics should their merits try,He had no office but to sell and buy;Like other traders, profit was his care;Of what they print, the authors must beware.”He held his patrons and his teachers dear,But with his trade—they must not interfere.’Twas certain now that John had lost the dreadAnd pious thoughts that once such terrors bred;His habits varied, and he more inclinedTo the vain world, which he had half resign’d:150He had moreover in his brethren seen,Or he imagined, craft, conceit, and spleen;“They are but men,” said John, “and shall I thenFear man’s control, or stand in awe of men?’Tis their advice (their convert’s rule and law),And good it is—I will not stand in awe.”Moreover Dighton, though he thought of booksAs one who chiefly on the title looks,Yet sometimes ponder’d o’er a page to find,When vex’d with cares, amusement for his mind;160And by degrees that mind had treasured muchFrom works his teachers were afraid to touch.Satiric novels, poets bold and free,And what their writers term philosophy,All these were read; and he began to feelSome self-approval on his bosom steal.Wisdom creates humility, but heWho thus collects it, will not humble be.No longer John was fill’d with pure delightAnd humble reverence in a pastor’s sight,170Who, like a grateful zealot, listening stood,To hear a man so friendly and so good;But felt the dignity of one who madeHimself important by a thriving trade;And growing pride in Dighton’s mind was bredBy the strange food on which it coarsely fed.Their brother’s fall the grieving brethren heard,The pride indeed to all around appear’d;The world, his friends agreed, had won the soulFrom its best hopes, the man from their control.180To make him humble, and confine his viewsWithin their bounds, and books which they peruse,A deputation from these friends select,Might reason with him to some good effect;Arm’d with authority, and led by love,They might those follies from his mind remove;Deciding thus, and with this kind intent,A chosen body with its speaker went.“John,” said the teacher, “John, with great concernWe see thy frailty, and thy fate discern—190Satan with toils thy simple soul beset,And thou art careless, slumbering in the net;Unmindful art thou of thy early vow;Who at the morning-meeting sees thee now?Who at the evening? where is brother John?We ask—are answer’d, ‘To the tavern gone.’Thee on the sabbath seldom we behold;Thou canst not sing, thou’rt nursing for a cold:This from the churchmen thou hast learn’d, for theyHave colds and fevers on the sabbath-day;200When in some snug warm room they sit, and penBills from their ledgers, world-entangled men!“See with what pride thou hast enlarged thy shop;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 placedTo be the pander of a vicious taste?What’s here? a book of dances!—you advanceIn goodly knowledge—John, wilt learn to dance?210How! ‘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 designTo make our names contemptible as thine?‘Old Nick, a Novel!’ oh! ’tis mighty well—A fool has courage when he laughs at hell;220‘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,}230Have 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,240Thus from thy neck the shameful badge I rend.”“Rend, if you dare,” said Dighton; “you shall findA man of spirit, though to peace inclined;Call me ungrateful! have I not my payAt 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 enjoyTalk of my faults, and treat me as a boy?Have you not told how Rome’s insulting priests250Led their meek laymen like a herd of beasts;And by their fleecing and their forgery madeTheir 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 justIn 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.261“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 foundSome sins among you, and the best unsound;You have your failings, like the crowds below,And at your pleasure hot and cold can blow.When I at first your grave deportment saw,270(I own my folly,) I was fill’d with awe;You spoke so warmly, and it [seemed] so well,I should have thought it treason to rebel.Is it a wonder that a man like meShould such perfection in such teachers see;Nay, should conceive you sent from Heav’n to braveThe host of sin, and sinful souls to save?But, as our reason wakes, our prospects clear,And failings, flaws, and blemishes appear.“When you were mounted in your rostrum high,280We shrank beneath your tone, your frown, your eye;Then you beheld us abject, fallen, low,And felt your glory from our baseness grow;Touch’d by your words, I trembled like the rest,And my own vileness and your power confess’d:These, I exclaim’d, are men divine, and gazedOn him who taught, delighted and amazed;Glad, when he finish’d, if by chance he castOne look on such a sinner, as he pass’d.“But, when I view’d you in a clearer light,290And saw the frail and carnal appetite;When, at his humble pray’r, you deign’d to eat,Saints as you are, a civil sinner’s meat;When, as you sat contented and at ease,Nibbling at leisure on the ducks and peas,And, pleased some comforts in such place to find,You could descend to be a little kind;And gave us hope, in Heaven there might be roomFor a few souls beside your own to come;While this world’s good engaged your carnal view,300And like a sinner you enjoy’d it too:All this perceiving, can you think it strangeThat change in you should work an equal change?”“Wretch that thou art,” an elder cried, “and goneFor everlasting”——“Go thyself,” said John;“Depart this instant, let me hear no more;My house my castle is, and that my door.”The hint they took, and from the door withdrew,And John to meeting bade a long adieu;Attach’d to business; he in time became310A wealthy man of no inferior name.It seem’d, alas! in John’s deluded sight,That all was wrong because not all was right;And, when he found his teachers had their stains,Resentment and not reason broke his chains.Thus on his feelings he again relied,And never look’d to reason for his guide.Could he have wisely view’d the frailty shown,And rightly weigh’d their wanderings and his own,He might have known that men may be sincere,320Though gay and feasting on the savoury cheer;That doctrines sound and sober they may teach,Who love to eat with all the glee they preach;Nay, who believe the duck, the grape, the pine,Were not intended for the dog and swine.But Dighton’s hasty mind on every themeRan from the truth, and rested in th’ extreme;Flaws in his friends he found, and then withdrew(Vain of his knowledge) from their virtues too;Best of his books he loved the liberal kind,330That, if they improve not, still enlarge the mind;And found himself, with such advisers, freeFrom a fix’d creed, as mind enlarged could be.His humble wife at these opinions sigh’d,But her he never heeded till she died;He then assented to a last request,And by the meeting-window let her rest;And on her stone the sacred text was seen,Which had her comfort in departing been.Dighton with joy beheld his trade advance,340Yet seldom published, loth to trust to chance;Then wed a doctor’s sister—poor indeed,But skill’d in works her husband could not read;Who, if he wish’d new ways of wealth to seek,Could make her half-crown pamphlet in a week:This he rejected, though without disdain,And chose the old and certain way to gain.Thus he proceeded; trade increased the while,And fortune woo’d him with perpetual smile.On early scenes he sometimes cast a thought,350When on his heart the mighty change was wrought;And all the ease and comfort converts findWas magnified in his reflecting mind;Then on the teacher’s priestly pride he dwelt,That caused his freedom, but with this he feltThe danger of the free—for since that day,No guide had shown, no brethren join’d his way;Forsaking one, he found no second creed,But reading doubted, doubting what to read.Still, though reproof had brought some present pain,360The gain he made was fair and honest gain;He laid his wares indeed in public view,But that all traders claim a right to do.By means like these, he saw his wealth increase,And felt his consequence, and dwelt in peace.Our hero’s age was threescore years and five,When he exclaim’d, “Why longer should I strive?Why more amass, who never must beholdA young John Dighton to make glad the old?”(The sons he had to early graves were gone,370And girls were burdens to the mind of John.)“Had I [a] boy, he would our name sustain,That now to nothing must return again;But what are all my profits, credit, trade,And parish-honours?—folly and parade.”Thus Dighton thought, and in his looks appear’dSadness, increased by much he saw and heard.The brethren often at the shop would stay,And make their comments ere they walk’d away;They mark’d the window, fill’d in every pane380With lawless prints of reputations slain;Distorted forms of men with honours graced,And our chief rulers in derision placed:Amazed they stood, remembering well the days,When to be humble was their brother’s praise;When at the dwelling of their friend they stopp’dTo drop a word, or to receive it dropp’d;Where they beheld the prints of men renown’d,And far-famed preachers pasted all around;(Such mouths! eyes! hair! so prim! so fierce! so sleek!390They look’d as speaking what is wo to speak):On these the passing brethren loved to dwell—How long they spake! how strongly! warmly! well!What power had each to dive in mysteries deep,To warm the cold, to make the harden’d weep;To lure, to fright, to soothe, to awe the soul,And list’ning flocks to lead and to control!But now discoursing, as they linger’d near,They tempted John (whom they accused) to hearTheir weighty charge—“And can the lost-one feel,400As in the time of duty, love, and zeal:When all were summon’d at the rising sun,And he was ready with his friends to run;When he, partaking with a chosen few,Felt the great change, sensation rich and new?No! all is lost, her favours Fortune shower’dUpon the man, and he is overpower’d;The world has won him with its tempting storeOf needless wealth, and that has made him poor.Success undoes him; he has risen to fall,410Has gain’d a fortune, and has lost his all;Gone back from Sion, he will find his ageLoth to commence a second pilgrimage;He has retreated from the chosen track;And now must ever bear the burden on his back.”Hurt by such censure, John began to findFresh revolutions working in his mind;He sought for comfort in his books, but readWithout a plan or method in his head;What once amused, now rather made him sad,420What should inform, increased the doubts he had;Shame would not let him seek at church a guide,And from his meeting he was held by pride;His wife derided fears she never felt,And passing brethren daily censures dealt;Hope for a son was now for ever past,He was the first John Dighton, and the last;His stomach fail’d, his case the doctor knew,But said, “he still might hold a year or two.”“No more?” he said, “but why should I complain?430A life of doubt must be a life of pain.Could I be sure—but why should I despair?I’m sure my conduct has been just and fair;In youth indeed I had a wicked will,But I repented, and have sorrow still;I had my comforts, and a growing tradeGave greater pleasure than a fortune made;And, as I more possess’d and reason’d more,I lost those comforts I enjoy’d before,When reverend guides I saw my table round,440And in my guardian guest my safety found.Now sick and sad, no appetite, no ease,Nor pleasure have I, nor a wish to please;Nor views, nor hopes, nor plans, nor taste have I,Yet sick of life, have no desire to die.”He said, and died; his trade, his name is gone,And all that once gave consequence to John.Unhappy Dighton! had he found a friend,When conscience told him it was time to mend!A friend discreet, considerate, kind, sincere,450Who would have shown the grounds of hope and fear;And proved that spirits, whether high or low,No certain tokens of man’s safety show;Had reason ruled him in her proper place,And virtue led him while he lean’d on grace;Had he while zealous been discreet and pure,His knowledge humble, and his hope secure—These guides had placed him on the solid rock,Where faith had rested, nor received a shock;But his, alas! was placed upon the sand,460Where long it stood not, and where none can stand.