CHARITY.

A FRAGMENT.

INSCRIBED TO THE REV. MR. HANBURY.

WORTH is excis'd, and Virtue pays

A heavy Tax for barren praise.

A friend to universal Man,

Is universal good your plan?

GOD may perhaps your project bless,
But man shall strive to thwart success.
Tho' the grand scheme thy thoughts pursue,
Bespeak a noble generous view,

Where CHARITY o'er all presides,

And SENSE approves what VIRTUE guides,
Yet wars and tumults will commence,

For Rogues hate virtue, Blockheads sense.
Believe me, Opposition grows

Not always from our real foes,
But (where it seldom ever ends)

From our more dangerous seeming friends.
I hate not foes, for they declare,
'Tis War for War, and dare who dare;

But your sly, sneaking, worming souls,
Whom FRIENDSHIP scorns, and FEAR Controuls,
Who praise, support, and help by halves,

Like Heifers, neither Bulls nor Calves;
Who, in Hypocrisy's disguise,

Are truly as the Serpent wise,

But cannot ALL the precept love,

And be as harmless as the Dove.
Who hold each charitable meeting,

To mean no more than good sound eating,
While each becomes a hearty fellow
According as he waxes mellow,
And kindly helps the main design,
By drinking it's success in wine;
And when his feet and senses reel,
Totters with correspondent zeal ;
Nay, would appear a patron wise,
But that his wisdom's in disguise,

And would harangue, but that his mouth,
Which ever hates the sin of drowth,
Catching the full perpetual glass,

Cannot afford a word to pass.

Such, who like true Churchwardens eat, Because the Parish pays the treat,

And of their bellyful secure,

O'ersee or over-look the poor,

Who would no doubt be wond'rous just,
And faithful Guardians of their trust,
But think the deed might run more clever
To them and to their Heirs for ever,
That Charity, too apt to roam,

Might end, where she begins, at home;
Who make all public good a trade,
Benevolence a mere parade,

And Charity a cloak for sin,

To keep it snug and warm within ;

Who flatter, only to betray,

Who promise much and never pay,

Who wind themselves about your heart

With hypocritic, knavish art,

Tell you what wond'rous things they're doing,
And undermine you to your ruin ;
Such, or of low or high estate,
To speak the honest truth, I hate :
I view their tricks with indignation,
And loath each fulsome protestation,
As I would loath a whore's embrace,
Who smiles, and smirks, and stroaks my face,
And all so tender, fond and kind,

As free of body, as of mind,
Affects the softnest of the Dove,

And ruins me to shew her Love.

The Maiden wither'd, wrinkled pale, Whose charms, tho' strong, are rather stale, Will use that weapon call'd a tongue,

To wound the beauteous and the young.

What, DELIA handsome!-well!-I own I'm either blind or stupid grown.

The girl is well enough to pass,

A rosy, simple, rustic lass;

But there's no meaning in her face, And then her air, so void of grace! And all the world, with half an eye, May see her shape grows quite awry. -I speak not from an ill design,

For she's a favourite of mine,

Tho' I could wish that she would wear

A more reserved becoming air;

Not that I hear of indiscretions,

Such folks, you know, make no confessions,
Tho' the WORLD says, that Parson there,
That smock-fac'd Man, with darkish hair,

Ile who wrote verses on her bird,
The simplest things I ever heard,
Makes frequent visits there of late,
And is become exceeding great;
This I myself aver is true,
I saw him lead her to his pew.

Thus scandal, like a false quotation,
Misrepresents in defamation;
And where she haply cannot spy
A loop whereon to hang a lie,
Turns every action wrong side out
To bring her paltry tale about.
Thus Excellence of every kind,
Whether of body or of mind,
Is but a mark set up on high,

For knaves to guide their arrows by;
A mere Scotch Post for public itch,
Where Hog, or Man, may scrub his breech.
But thanks to Nature, which ordains

A just reward for all our pains,

And makes us stem, with secret pride,
Hoarse DISAPPOINTMENT'S rugged tide,
And like a lordly ship, which braves
The roar of winds, and rush of waves,
Weather all storms, with jealous Hate
Or frantic Malice may create.
"Tis CONSCIENCE, a reward alone,
CONSCIENCE, who plac'd on Virtue's throne,

Eyes raging men, or raging seas,

Undaunted, firm, with heart at ease,

From her dark Cave, tho' ENVY rise

With hollow cheeks, and jaundic'd eyes,