When gardens with foul weeds are planted,
The cultivating hand is wanted.

A numerous troop I lead along
Of actors, to adorn my song.
Renown'd for wisdom, yet they fall;
A Jack Daw holds the most of all.

'Tis needful we should understand
That infant minds come pure to hand:
Elastic too, for they'll receive
Impressions which you chuse to give;
Then to the tutor must belong
To lead them right or lead them wrong.
If errors should be planted there,
In spite of reason they'll appear.
The seeds once sown will come about;
Philosophy can't root them out.
Like the pock-marks upon your face,
Old Time can mend, but not erase.

Let nurses then but guide your son,
And from that moment he's undone;
For then the child a bias takes
In error, which he ne'er forsakes.
Nor must we only nurses note
Who wear the cap and petticoat.
But there are nurses, we declare,
Who empty heads and breeches wear.
Nay, there are nurses of renown
Exalted in a band and gown.

Whate'er untruth the tutor speaks
The harmless child for real takes.
Hence similies and metaphors
Are quite unfit for childish ears.
Fable and figure, though they shine,
The child should never read a line;
But quite through infancy to youth
Be treated with the simplest truth;
And then you'll certainly discern
He'll have but little to unlearn.

But when the tutor, or his charge,
Not one idea can enlarge,
His thoughts lie dormant in the rough;
His words are common senseless stuff,
Conveying sayings o'er and o'er
Repeated many an age before.
His utmost erudition lies
Among Poor Robin's Prophecies.
Believes all myst'ries to a tittle;
Thinks they, ten thousand, are too little.
For numbers give, when large they're grown,
More food for faith to feed upon.
When first he's with a new moon struck,
Makes a large mark to mend his luck--
'Some mighty trouble sure is nigh
Armies are fighting in the sky.
To kill our pig's exceeding vain,
Just while the moon is in her wane.
Hark! sure I hear the ravens sound!
I'll cross my fortune on the ground,
A pimple on my tongue descry,
My mother thinks I told a lie.'

When heads with such like trash abound,
Tutor and pupil are unsound.
If reason from the man be chac'd,
No wonder that his mind's debas'd;
And, like a butcher's swilling tub,
Holds offals well, but nothing good;
But makes, if we to Burke allude,
Part of his 'Swinish Multitude.'

Ere you attempt a task so mild,
To lead the judgment of a child,
And place it in the truest light,
Take special care your own is right;
You'll then be to the race a friend,
And lead them to a noble end.

A genius brighter than a dunce
May follow up two trades at once;
For mending shoes, and teaching school,
Are seldom follow'd by a fool:
Two occupations here we find,
One props the body--one, the mind.

A Cobler liv'd--to tell I'm loth,
Who, with some credit, follow'd both.
He bent his back, he bent his leather,
To keep folks dry-shod in wet weather.

Nor were these two professions all;
He knew the science medical.
By application, from his youth,
Could, with his pincers, draw a tooth.
With his broad awl could breathe a vein;
Nor coat nor character would stain;
The blueish channel swell with ease,
And turn the tide which way you please:
Thus he three trades could carry on,
And only use the tools of one.

Of truth we shall observe strict rule,
And give a list of all his school.
The scholars did not much abound;
In his whole school but one was found--
A plient Jack Daw, large and able,
Rear'd up to manhood from the cradle,
Were all the pupils you'd discern,
And all the Cobler had to learn.
Jack danc'd about him all day long;
And from him learn'd the English tongue.
Though read he could not, nor indite,
Yet this we hold exactly right.
'Tis like our petticoats, who teach
To petticoats, three halfpence each.
Importance swells a little bit
When people as directors sit;
Though 'tis not easy to discern
Which ought to teach, but which to learn.

In one great point they both succeed;
Master and scholar well agreed:
The only instance, take my word,
You'll ever find upon record:
For half our modern education
Consists of quarrels and vexation.
The Cobler never, which is odd,
Infus'd his knowledge with a rod.
He knew at which end to begin
To plant the sprig of learning in;
Which, if you through our schools should go,
Is more than half the tutors know.

Our Daw pronounc'd, without a stammer,
Or either dictionary or grammar.
He learn'd to swear, with all the flow
And graces of a modern beau;
But o'er this reprobating band
He had, by far, the upper hand.
As he for sins could not atone,
His oaths were not worth setting down:
'Tis needless to throw time away
After the man who'll never pay.
But beauish oaths are all concenter'd,
And fairly in Fate's ledger enter'd,
Balance brought, divines will say,
And reckon'd for another day.

From monosyllables he rose
'Till he pronounc'd in verse and prose.
Some thought he'd up to Pindus climb,
For he was known to deal in rhime.
Nor should they wonder if he took
His pen in hand to write a book;
Which probably the world would please
As much as that great bard J. T's.

They don't pretend he would surpass
The merits of our Hudibras;
Whose beauties he could ne'er attain,
But from his faults he might abstain.
Nor do they mean our Daw to lift
So high in honour as Dean Swift;
Who, as a humourist, will reach
In Fame's fair temple the first nich.
Let me, illustrious shade! abide
A willing vot'ry by thy side!
Enjoy the singular renown
Of binding laurels on thy crown.

What man can call that boy a fool,
Who holds the highest place in school?
This was the case with our Jack Daw,
Who not a soul above him saw.
An orator! and so compleat,
Might hold a senatorial seat!
Would represent, you'd eas'ly tell,
A Jack Daw borough pretty well;
For I and no, from day to day,
Is all his honour has to say.
He need not act, nor even think,
But vote just as he's tipt the wink.
What minister would not make trial
Of one so supple and so loyal?
Besides, he'd be, it may be noted,
The cheapest vote that ever voted.
He'd follow what his leader said,
Just for a little milk and bread;
Nor had he, like the selfish tribe,
A pocket that would hold a bribe.
What minister need fear disaster,
When hand and glove are he and master?'
Then Fox's, Sheridans, and Greys,
May take their hats and go their ways,
For fear the Jack Daw nest shall rout them;
The minister can do without them.

Jack now a single word threw out,
And then whole sentences would spout
For if the child would not lie still,
'I'll take the Joe, by G--I will.'
If an old woman chanc'd t'appear,
He'd call her bawd with easy air;
And if a young one came, what's more,
Then issued forth two words--'Thou whore.'
'Twas taken for a merry joke
By all but her to whom 'twas spoke.

If we his conversation view,
His greatest fault was telling true;
For from his beak more truths would fall
Than you'd find in Westminster Hall.

Most serious things he turn'd to jokes;
A power beyond us two-legg'd folks.
A reputation he'd cut up
With all the ease you'd sit and sup.
Destroy the honour of a lass,
As soon as you could drink a glass.
What profit could a Proctor draw?
Our hero was above the law.

THE SECOND PART

Be not o'erwhelm'd with deep surprize,
Though you should see the Jack Daw rise.
Assail'd by Heaven and Earth around,
He keeps his throne, he spurns the ground.

The Cobler chanc'd to take his work in;
The Jack Daw after him was lurking;
Where, sorely frighten'd, as a stranger,
Hopp'd in the parlour, out of danger;
Though odd it seems, yet strictly true it be,
Mounted the chimney for security.
The Cobler sees not this, nor feels;
He minded neither soles nor heels;
For, cash receiving, home he went:
Receiving gives the mind content.

The Jack Daw mourn'd, he'd lost his master;
The Cobler mourn'd the same disaster.
'Tis far more easy, we pretend,
To lose, than 'tis to gain a friend.
Yet the first case, we still maintain,
Gives, of the two, the greatest pain.
Nor is life worth a pebble-stone,
If we live 'till our friends are gone.

The chimney now produc'd a noise,
Which gave the family surprize;
Gave every hair compleat erection,
And every spirit much dejection.
All struck with fear, both man and woman,
'They heard a voice which was not human!'

A serious consultation's held
'Good lack! what has the chimney fill'd?'
But no decision e'er belongs
When judgments various are as tongues.
Like other long disputes, it therefore
Ended at last in why and wherefore;
'Till one important point came on--
'For really something must be done.'
The chimney-sweeper, all agree,
Shall climb the dismal road, and see.

We now behold the man in black
Determin'd on the bold attack;
Who stoutly told the people there,
That he himself was void of fear.
If others won't our powers make known,
'Tis needful we should praise our own.
While they express'd joy unexpected,
And smil'd at being well protected.

The brave defender now unbound,
And threw his garments on the ground.
Half garments, we should fancy, rather
Which just half screen'd him from the weather,

His knees began to quake all o'er;
His hands and fingers rather more;
With some few signs of fear beside,
Which he did all he could to hide.
Yet, howe'er for the task unfit,
He'd gone too far t'admit retreat.

While all were anxious, and all fear'd,
A horrid voice within was heard--
'Thou dismal varlet, most impure,
I tell thee I'll have thee for sure.'

A frighten'd aspect you might trace
In every line of every face;
But the bold chimney-sweeper stood
Like man of stone, or block of wood.
Perhaps you'll disbelieve my tale,
If I should say his face look'd pale.
No, all the ghosts that walk'd by night
Could not convey one jot of white;
But you might see with some surprize,
Astonishment in his two eyes.
One solemn wish he had to spare--
'That he had never enter'd there;
But left the spirit, and the rout,
With kicks and cuffs to deal it out.
Some imp was lodg'd in evil hour
Beyond the chimney-sweeper's power.'

THE THIRD PART

When one tool we can't work withall,
We boldly for another call.
For one a preference may lack
Although they both appear in black.

Like travellers we've rov'd about,
But find ourselves where we set out;
Nay, some may think, since we begun,
We've lost a little more than won;
Yet, like a gamester, ere we go,
Court Fortune in another throw.

What family can eat or sleep
When Satan shall the chimney keep,
An inlet, open to the air,
Which they can neither bolt or bar?
Deplorable must be their case;
He'd got the upper porter's place.
What house would not be full of fear,
When he shall act the overseer?
He'll hear and see what's said and done;
A score of sins will be chalk'd on.
Much rather they'd a robber see
Who lock'd them in and took the key.

A second consultation's held--
'O dear, what has the chimney fill'd!'
And how it emptied may become--
But the grand question was--by whom.

'The Parson is, they all agree,
The only one to set them free.
Let spirit or let devil come,
He holds them fast beneath his thumb;
For when the Priest a prayer has said,
A spirit dares not lift its head.
He is the man who keeps the key
To lock them up in the Red Sea;
For long or short can hold them there
To starve on salt-fish round the year.
With leave may Pharaoh's host pursue,
And see the king his trops review.

Now dress'd, as on a Sunday dress'd,
The Master visited the Priest;
With heaving sighs made this confession--
'My chimney Satan's got possession;
And now my house, by such a foe,
Will grow as hot as his below.
Pray, Sir, the hostile spirit lay;
Or, rather, send him off to sea.'

The Priest look'd dull, but did not speak;
He'd rather heard a tithe-pig squeak.
For where's the parson, tell me, pray,
Who'd Satan meet before his day?
He rather would the work forsake;
But saw his credit was at stake;
And told the Master, with a sigh,
'He'd wait upon him by and by.'

As he ne'er laid, in all his life,
A sprite, not even of his wife,
He might, if he a wrong step made,
Be thought defective in his trade;
He ought, ere he began to rout it,
See what great authors said about it;
For, in divinity, are folks
Much like our Blackstones, Hales, and Cokes.
If he a president could find,
'Twould guide his tongue and ease his mind.
This plan, when he came to review it,
Gave him a spirit to go through it.

He turn'd a dozen volumes o'er;
Consulted Lilly, Glanville, More.
Among the authors on the spot,
Sands, the great Sands, was not forgot.
Then Demonology produced,
The sov'reign work of James the First;
Who, perfectly, from genius known,
Knew every world--except his own.
Deep Culpepper now left his station,
To add his mite of information.
Not one astrologer was idle;
All were less dusty than his Bible.

Howe'er, he took the Bible next;
He'd not renounce the sacred text;
For, if the scriptures he seem'd wise in,
He might facilitate his rising;
And, as he'd be their staunch defender,
Consulted Saul and Witch of Endor,
To learn what power old madam had
To raise a spirit from the dead.
For that same power his hopes would crown,
What rais'd one up would lay one down.

That he the surer might divine
He drew an astrologic sign.
While working up the figures clear,
His mind was toss'd by hope and fear;
Finding the aspects rather mild,
The planets and the parson smil'd;
Then clos'd the book, put on his gown,
And march'd to pull Old Satan down.

When you are sick, and keep your room,
You're glad to see the Doctor come;
Or, if your coat be stol'n, you'll grant
The taylor is the man you want--
So far'd it with the people frighted;
To see the Doctor were delighted:
And this appear'd the only sight
In which he ever gave delight.

How much he drank, and relish'd well,
The Muse will not presume to tell;
For Parsons have peculiar skill
To make the corks fly when they will:
Besides, 'twas thought another sup
Would tend to keep his spirits up;
For, if the devil would destroy him,
He should have every prop that's nigh him.

The Priest, with solemn words, prepare
To send Old Nick into the air;
For, upon second thoughts, 'twas found
The air was safer than the ground;
But when he bent his knee to stoop,
And his first course of prayers send up,
A voice was utter'd which seem'd odd--
'Vile sinner, I'll have thee by G--.'

Horror the parson did not lack,
Which made him instantly start back;
But left him master of one word,
Which he repeated once--'O Lord;'
With a deep sigh fix'd at the end on't
Blasting the word to which't hung pendant;
You'd think him, he so hugg'd his tripes,
Sorely afflicted with the gripes.
No thief, who in the fact was took;
Nor school-boy when he blotch'd his book;
Nor Molly when she sing'd her cap;
Nor Tom when he perceiv'd the clap;
Nor sailor when his hands are tied,
Stripp'd buff, and feels the cat applied;
Nor Lucy when she daub'd her stocking,
Did ever shew a look more shocking.
Saving a whiteness in the face,
He'd ta'en the chimney-sweeper's face.
'Save and except' one trifle more--
The smell was stronger than before.

THE FOURTH PART

Of moral life we'll take a view;
A scene of tender love pursue;
And as there variations be,
Perhaps we may a quarrel see.

Can man pursue a proper way
When those who lead him go astray?
And yet the fault's not solely his,
Who was in childhood led amiss.
Teachers themselves have been deceiv'd;
They can but pay what they receiv'd;
For sterling knowledge through the nation
Is charg'd with base adulteration.
So on for generations long
Our education has been wrong.
Such learning that's not worth a groat
For many ages has been taught.
With idle falshoods men run wild;
With idle falshoods fill the child.

Before three suns were rose and set,
Our Jack Daw crept in the Gazette.
O! not a bankrupt was he found
To pay three shillings in the pound,
Nor one of modern fashion seen
To spend or pocket seventeen.
Then tell the world, with drooping chin,
'A down-right honest man he's been.'
Then urge his friends both soon and late
Till he gets his certificate.
Then utter forth this genteel speech--
'My creditors may kiss my--.
By law I take another's store;
I'll tread the steps I trod before.
To humble his, and raise my pride,
He'll walk on foot, while I shall ride.'

Neither like one, whose filthy face,
Is white-wash'd with an Act of Grace.
The creditor is basely trick'd,
His hands are tied, his pocket pick'd.
Which is the worst, can it be said,
The white-washer or white-washed?

No, Jack appearing far more right
Was treated in a fairer light.
A greater honour far he shar'd;
For he with Satan was compar'd;
Who, from the time the world began,
Was never known to rob a man;
Nor turn the spit, nor boil'd the pot,
With property another'd got;
Nor, as a spunge, determin'd yet
A statute should rub out the debt.
Then ar'n't I, Sir, if I grow fat on
Another's labour, worse than Satan?

It there was said, and not in jest,
'The devil such a house possess'd;
And that the people made a rout;
Nor could the Parson drive him out.'

The Cobler saw the news retain it;
Was silent, though he could explain it.
He issued forth in utmost haste
To have his dearest friend releas'd.

'Sir, I'm inform'd your house is haunted;
This devil I attack undaunted.
Let me, Sir, but the chimney see,
I'll lay the spirit, or he me.'

The master stood with features down,
And heard him rather with a frown,
The door was open'd, in he fled;
The master car'd not what he said;
Was there shut up by way of ending;
They never thought him worth attending.

'Jack, Jack,' he cried. That well-known sound
Brought Jack that moment to the ground.
Who can describe the joys compleat
When two lost friends together meet?
Of all the social pleasures given,
This surely comes the nearest heaven.
They met, but not like love and lover,
Who, for whole evenings, bill and slaver.
The Cobler, which is all you'd seen,
His pocket open'd, Jack hopp'd in;
Welcom'd that cupboard where he'd fed,
Full many a time, on crumbs of bread.

The door set wide then out he run,
Smiling just like a man that's won
'The spirit, Sir, which used to vex you,
'I've laid--It will no more perplex you.'

The husband sullen, you might view,
Firmly believing all untrue,
Wrinkled his nose, and look'd ascance;
The Cobler was not worth a glance.
The wife then gave her head a flirt;
For wives, sometimes, are rather pert--
'I tell you, Cobler, we've had two
Already, better men than you.'

The Cobler, much amus'd to meet
For favours granted such a treat,
Directly mov'd his hand an inch,
And gave the Jack Daw's foot a pinch;
When instantly was heard to roar
A voice the spirit used before,

'Thou impudent whore,
Thou shalt have a rod;
I'll have thee for sure;
I'll take thee by G--.'

Their faces of a whitish hue
Directly turn'd a little blue.
They now began to raise a riot
'The Cobler's treatment gave no quiet:
For their accumulate vexations
Proceeded from his machinations.'
She us'd a tongue which never fails,
And was prepar'd to use her nails.
'He was th' offender, all decide--
The voice came forth from his inside.
His conjurations should not save him;
Before the justice they would have him.
As evidence against him there
The injur'd Parson should appear.
Though one he 'd conquer'd, yet, at last,
They'd found a third would set him fast.'
And coinciding with our plan,
Young Misses lisp'd out 'naughty man!'
Nay, were a parrot in the case,
He'd meet the Jack Daw face to face.
But here it may with truth be said,
He'd but a paltry figure made;
For how would ign'rant Poll come off
With Jack as learn'd as College Soph?

THE FIFTH PART

We've tried one black, we've tried his brother;
Have patience, Friend, we'll try another:
Though not so dark, he holds, 'tis true,
Just as much wisdom as the two.

O glorious laws! in which abound
Blessings which no where else are found.
In thy great vortex we can see
More grace than in divinity;
Faith, Hope, and Charity in store;
With half a dozen graces more.
Repentance and Humility,
Among the rest, belong to thee:
But, as to Love, which sweetly sounds,
We cannot say it much abounds.

If you should chance to have dispute
The next thing is, commence a suit.
You'll be delighted to begin;
For, being right, are sure to win.
And who can tell the joys which rest,
Except the winner, in his breast?

Now lively Faith takes her firm stand,
And Hope and she go hand in hand.
Sir, if you're worth ten thousand pound,
Your Charity will much abound:
To feed the hungry is one grace;
And lawyers are a hungry race.
Whether attack'd, or you attack,
You'll feel a mind upon the rack;
Whether you throw, or are o'erthrown,
Perhaps you'll find yourself undone.
Your pocket you may turn at will,
And find that pocket empty still.
You'll shun your lawyer's frowning looks
Because he had not cross'd his books.
And here again; what blessings wait
Upon the poor in their fall'n state.
An empty pocket, you may see,
Quickly draw forth Humility.
Thus law, before we've had a full-bit,
Brings more Repentance than the pulpit.

Two ships, by grappling-irons tied,
Fight on, till vict'ry decide;
So our contenders fight most true,
Grappled till Law divides the two.

The Cobler now, by high commands,
Before an awful Justice stands,
Who fill'd a chair quite full, you'd see,
With just as many arms as he.
His eye-sight he thought clear enough
To see a cause through, four yards off.
But some most wickedly suppose
He could not see beyond his nose;
And yet his sight might not be near,
Because his nose projected far:
That noble out-guard held its place
The grandest feature in his face,
Which hover'd over many a feast,
And was--two handfuls say, at least.

His deep-sunk eyes were rather blearish,
Which caus'd a look a little quearish;
And yet when eyes a fluid's urging,
It only shews 'the drink is spurging.'

In hills and dales his face was parted,
For here and there a ruby started.
His cheeks were puff'd beneath his cap
Like the four winds in your old map.

Whate'er his body was denied
In height, in thickness was supplied.
The servant girl, 'twas shrewsdly said,
Thought on him when she dumplings made;
Nor could she find, she'd often tell,
A pattern that would suit as well.
Nature and she, 'twas plain enough,
Compleatly rounded up their stuff;
And though his worship was the lofty'st,
They both were rather with the softest.

The chair's two arms his sides press sore
Swelling the promnence before;
So that an Irishman might say
'He'd stand the highest when he lay.'

The moisture, snuff, and mucus rather,
Perfectly harmoniz'd together,
The swellings of his breast expose
The treasures falling from his nose;
So that whate'er the nose might cost
The breast resolv'd should not be lost;
Which made appearance rather drollish,
And, like a breast-plate, bore a polish

He took no nap, but after dining;
From many a tankard drew the lining;
And by a slight, to him long known,
With dextrous hand improv'd his own.

Plac'd in his magisterial chair,
Though short, the greatest personage there,
And rolling round his eyes to see--
'Where is the culprit? Bring him me.
A drunken Cobler I'm to view.
Which is this powerful conjurer? You--
Eh--
There's not a day in which you fail
To try the potentcy of ale.'

'Your worship I may follow up,
Provided I don't touch your cup.'

'Of all the tankard, the last drop
You chiefly long for.'--'No, the top,'

'I'd told a Cobler you appear.'

'I'm not the only Cobler here.'

'Make your confession full and free,
Then you'll much goodness find in me.'

'Your worship I allow as much,
If multitude of flesh be such.'

'Anan!
From what place, Cobler, do you come?
I'll have an instant answer,'--'Home.'

'And when abroad, what business then
Do you pursue?'--'Go home agen.'

'You with the devil deal, I'm told.'
'I never heard he leather sold.'

'Well, but you've some connection though.'

'We deal in soles, but not in Co.'

'You must, like him, bemuch to blame,
If your pursuits are found the same.'

'His trade is mischief, when he can;
But mine's the great support of man.'

'You're charg'd with acting much amiss.
Are you concern'd with spirits?'--'Yes.'

'What place in chimneys do you lot 'em;
The top or middle?'--'No, the bottom.'

'Where do they rest when they don't pass
In seas or church-yards?'--'No, in glass,
In a dark cave, with fasten'd door,
I keep them safe 'till supper's o'er;
And when all's still, at my desire,
They issue forth in smoke and fire.'

'Then, I suppose, you force them out,
Whenever they appear?'--'No doubt.'

'But they, before they take their flight,
Remain some time within you?'--'Right.'

'And, when they leave you, do they fall?'

'They fiercely fly against a wall.'

'Will they return, as heretofore,
To serve you?'--'No, I order more.'

'Which haunt your neighbours when in bed,
In houses, chimneys,eh?'--'Your head.'

'Ha, ha, ha!
Well, Cobler, you may travel hence;
You've made a pretty good defence.'
The Cobler bow'd, but did not speak;
Then gave the Jack Daw's foot a tweak.
The same voice spoke which spoke before--
'Vile sinner, I'll have thee for sure.'

Now sides were chang'd; the prisoner eas'd,
The justice was with horror seiz'd.
His head and shoulders would have reel'd,
Only the chair before was fill'd.
The scarlet hue declin'd apace;
A few old sins flash'd in his face;
And some of an enormous kind
Made bold to step into his mind.
A stander-by might eas'ly scan
A fluid from his breeches ran;
But this he did not wish were known
Because it tallied with his own.

The Cobler smil'd at Justice Quorum--

'I'll raise the spirit now before 'em;'
And instantly, full in their view,
The Jack Daw from his pocket drew.

Jack and the Justice both were pleas'd,
Because they found themselves released.
Jack, perching on his master's hand,
The Cobler, at full length, harangued--

'Can reasoning man be so absurd
To tremble at a harmless bird?
Nature inverted here we view;
'Tis he, should run away from you.
Man musters eager, and maintains
A troop of horrors in his brains;
And, not contented with the store,
Is ever gaping after more.
His spungy faith, replete with fear,
Imbibes the dirty moisture near.
In cards, palm-lines and coffee-ground,
His future destiny is found.
To tell, and then explain the dream,
Becomes, at tea, the morning theme.
In omens spends the day, and then
At night begins to dream agen.
Can we, with all this faith, engage
To call our own 'a faithless age.'

In prophecies believes of men
Whose utmost skill is counting ten!
A prophecy is seldom found
To rear its head on barren ground:
Let ignorance then in silence pass;
True prophets are a higher class.
The man with a judicious eye,
Who times observes, can prophecy;
Eas'ly the future can divine,
And hit the mark eight times in nine.

Man, reasoning man has lost his place;
The only dupe o every race.
This learned bird I left behind
Has shewn the follies of mankind:
Bold follies, which the mind debase,
And practis'd by o other race.
Yet he claims reason for his guide,
Which he denies to all beside.
Te fairy, trance, the witch, the gobbling,
Those hads, ill-taught, are sure to hobble in.
Creatures which creep beneath his view
Believe exactly what is true.
The only animal he is
Who exercises prejudice.
His faith, luxuriantly, will thrive,
And well bear pruning four in five.

To miracles he gives applause,
Without consid'ring Nature's laws;
Who her own steady work observes,
A course from which she never swerves;
But always with herself agrees,
Nor tries impossibilities.
Did ever Sol neglect the day,
Or whale trot on a turnpike way?
Did e'er stand still the heav'nly host?
Or the North Star desert his post?
Did water e'er run up the hill?
Or ever lamb the mastiff kill?
When these shall happen, Nature's gone,
And days of miracle come on.

Yet some few instances we quote,
Wherein we must relax our note.
Though miracles do not abound,
We know, by chance, one may be found;
Such as a Courtier so absurd
As now and then to keep his word;
Or Priest who humble would remain,
And loves his people more than gain;
Or honesty in Law appears;
Or a recruit who never swears;
Or tradesman who'd not tell a lie
Although it throws his profit by;
Or fair one twenty months a bride
Who never wish'd the knot untied;
Or heir at law who yet abhors
To wrong his father's creditors;
Thinks it unjust himself to serve,
And sells th' estate without reserve;
Or priest, from holy resolution,
Firmly detests all persecution.

Such are the miracles, we know,
Which private and which seldom grow.
Mighty enormities appear
From love of min'stry, and from fear.
If we look back we find two things,
An error, and from whence it springs;
And these are wont to gain admission
Through an erroneous tuition.

The evil's pointed out most sure;
My Jack Daw will point out the cure;
Perhaps improve by ardent study
Some heads which are a little muddy;
And if he can the fountain cure,
The running stream will then be pure.

Who should correct, attempt at least,
To guide, so ably, as the priest?
If his bright beam upon us pours,
It instantly will kindle ours.
But he's as dark as is the other--
Can one dark lanthorn light another?

When sheep shall rove, the shepherd may
A shepherd want, as much as they;
As he who preaches still appears
As foul within as he who hears,
How can a stream be better made
By mixing with a stream as bad?
Or if the blind shall lead the blind--
You know what follows close behind.

My learned Daw, with his advice,
Shall mount the pulpit in a trice
On Sunday next; he thinks it best,
Before the scabby flock are dress'd,
Whisper the Priest who hunts for pelf--
Hark ye, physician--heal thyself.'