Foul, I to the Fountain fly:
Wash me, SAVIOR, or I die!
While I draw this fleeting breath--
When my eye-strings break in death-- 20 When I soar to worlds unknown--
See Thee on thy judgment-throne--
Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee!
P. FAREWELL to Europe, and at once farewell
To all the follies which in Europe dwell,
To Eastern India now, a richer clime,
Richer alas in ev'ry thing but Rime,
The Muses steer their course, and, fond of change, 5 At large, in other worlds, desire to range,
Resolv'd at least, since They the fool must play,
To do it in a diff'rent place, and way.
F. What whim is this, what errour of the brain,
What madness worse than in the dog-star's reign? 10 Why into foreign countries would You roam,
Are there not knaves and fools enough at home?
If Satire be thy object, and thy lays
As yet have shewn no talents fit for praise,
If Satire be thy object, search all round, 15 Nor to thy purpose can one spot be found
Like England, where to rampant vigour grown
Vice choaks up ev'ry Virtue, where, self-sown,
The seeds of Folly shoot forth rank and bold,
And ev'ry seed brings forth a hundred fold. 20
P. No more of this--tho' Truth (the more our shame,
The more our guilt) tho' Truth perhaps may claim,
And justify her part in this, yet here,
For the first time, e'en Truth offends my ear.
Declaim from morn to night, from night to morn, 25 Take up the theme a new, when day's new-born,