Page:The poetical works of William Cowper (IA poeticalworksof00cowp).pdf/158

Admire his learning, and almost adore.
Whoever errs, the priest can ne'er be wrong,
 With such fine words familiar to his tongue.
Ye ladies! (for, indiff'rent in your cause,
 I should deserve to forfeit all applause)
 Whatever shocks, or gives the least offence
 To virtue, delicacy, truth or sense,
 (Try the criterion, 'tis a faithful guide)
 Nor has, nor can have scripture on its side.
None but an author knows an author's cares,
 Or fancy's fondness for the child she bears.
Committed once into the public arms,
 The baby seems to smile with added charms.
Like something precious ventured far from shore,
 'Tis valued for the dangers sake the more.
He views it with complacency supreme,
 Solicits kind attention to his dream,
 And daily more enamoured of the cheat,
 Kneels, and asks heav'n to bless the dear deceit.
So one, whose story serves at least to show
 Men loved their own productions long ago,
 Wooed an unfeeling statue for his wife,
 Nor rested till the Gods had giv'n it life.
If some mere driv'ler suck the sugared fib,
 One that still needs his leading string and bib,
 And praise his genius, he is soon repaid
 In praise applied to the same part, his head.
For 'tis a rule that holds for ever true,
 Grant me discernment, and I grant it you.
Patient of contradiction as a child,
Affable, humble, diffident and mild,
Such was Sir Isaac, and such Boyle and Locke,
Your blunderer is as sturdy as a rock.
The creature is so sure to kick and bite,
A muleteer's the man to set him right.
First appetite enlists him truth's sworn foe,
Then obstinate self-will confirms him so.
Tell him he wanders, that his error leads
To fatal ills, that though the path he treads
Be flowery, and he see no cause of fear,
Death and the pains of hell attend him there;
In vain; the slave of arrogance and pride,
He has no hearing on the prudent side.
His still refuted quirks he still repeats,
New raised objections with new quibbles meets,
'Till sinking in the quicksand he defends,
He dies disputing, and the contest ends;
But not the mischiefs: they still left behind,
Like thistle-seeds are sown by every wind.
Thus men go wrong with an ingenious skill,
Bend the strait rule to their own crooked will,
And with a clear and shining lamp supplied,