frailty of our race
When age unmans us—­let me state a case: 
There’s our friend Rupert—­we shall soon redress
His present evil—­drink to our success —
I flatter not; but did you ever see
Limbs better turn’d? a prettier boy than he? 
His senses all acute, his passions such
As Nature gave—­she never does too much;
His the bold wish the cup of joy to drain,
And strength to bear it without qualm or pain. 
   “Now view his father as he dozing lies,
Whose senses wake not when he opes his eyes;
Who slips and shuffles when he means to walk,
And lisps and gabbles if he tries to talk;
Feeling he’s none—­he could as soon destroy
The earth itself, as aught it holds enjoy;
A nurse attends him to lay straight his limbs,
Present his gruel, and respect his whims: 
Now shall this dotard from our hero hold
His lands and lordships?  Shall he hide his gold! 
That which he cannot use, and dare not show,
And will not give—­why longer should he owe? 
Yet, t’would be murder should we snap the locks,
And take the thing he worships from the box;
So let him dote and dream:  but, till he die,
Shall not our generous heir receive supply? 
For ever sitting on the river’s brink? 
And ever thirsty, shall he fear to drink? 
The means are simple, let him only wish,
Then say he’s willing, and I’ll fill his dish.” 
   They all applauded, and not least the boy,
Who now replied, “It fill’d his heart with joy
To find he needed not deliv’rance crave
Of death, or wish the Justice in the grave;
Who, while he spent, would every art retain,
Of luring home the scatter’d gold again;
Just as a fountain gaily spirts and plays
With what returns in still and secret ways.” 
   Short was the dream of bliss; he quickly found
His father’s acres all were Swallow’s ground. 
Yet to those arts would other heroes lend
A willing ear, and Swallow was their friend;
Ever successful, some began to think
That Satan help’d him to his pen and ink;
And shrewd suspicions ran about the place,
“There was a compact”—­I must leave the case. 
But of the parties, had the fiend been one,
The business could not have been speedier done: 
Still when a man has angled day and night,
The silliest gudgeons will refuse to bite: 
So Swallow tried no more:  but if they came
To seek his friendship, that remain’d the same: 
Thus he retired in peace, and some would say
He’d balk’d his partner, and had learn’d to pray. 
To this some zealots lent an ear, and sought
How Swallow felt, then said “a change is wrought.” 
’Twas true there wanted all the signs of grace,
But there were strong professions in their place;
Then, too, the less that men from him expect,
The more the praise to the converting sect;
He had not yet subscribed to all their creed,
Nor own’d a Call, but he confess’d the need: