Fail I at meeting? am I sleepy there? 
My purse refuse I with the priest to share? 
Do I deny the poor a helping hand? 
Or stop the wicked women in the Strand? 
Or drink at club beyond a certain pitch? 
Which are your charges?  Conscience, tell me which?”
   “’Tis well,” said she, “but—­” “Nay, I pray, have done: 
Trust me, I will not into danger run.” 
   The lottery drawn, not one demand was made;
Fulham gain’d profit and increase of trade. 
“See now,” said he—­for Conscience yet arose —
“How foolish ’tis such measures to oppose: 
Have I not blameless thus my state advanced?”
“Still,” mutter’d Conscience, “still it might have chanced.” 
“Might!” said our hero:  “who is so exact
As to inquire what might have been a fact?”
   Now Fulham’s shop contain’d a curious view
Of costly trifles, elegant and new: 
The papers told where kind mammas might buy
The gayest toys to charm an infant’s eye;
Where generous beaux might gentle damsels please,
And travellers call who cross the land or seas,
And find the curious art, the neat device,
Of precious value and of trifling price. 
   Here Conscience rested, she was pleased to find
No less an active than an honest mind;
But when he named his price, and when he swore
His Conscience check’d him that he ask’d no more,
When half he sought had been a large increase
On fair demand, she could not rest in peace;
(Beside th’ affront to call th’ adviser in,
Who would prevent, to justify the sin): 
She therefore told him that “he vainly tried
To soothe her anger, conscious that he lied;
If thus he grasp’d at such usurious gains,
He must deserve, and should expect her pains.” 
   The charge was strong; he would in part confess
Offence there was—­But, who offended less? 
“What! is a mere assertion call’d a lie? 
And if it be, are men compell’d to buy? 
’Twas strange that Conscience on such points should dwell,
While he was acting (he would call it) well;
He bought as others buy, he sold as others sell;
There was no fraud, and he demanded cause
Why he was troubled when he kept the laws?”
   “My laws!” said Conscience.  “What,” said he, “are thine? 
Oral or written, human or divine? 
Show me the chapter, let me see the text;
By laws uncertain subjects are perplex’d: 
Let me my finger on the statute lay,
And I shall feel it duty to obey.” 
   “Reflect,” said Conscience, “’twas your own desire
That I should warn you—­does the compact tire? 
Repent you this?—­then bid me not advise,
And rather hear your passions as they rise: 
So you may counsel and remonstrance shun;
But then remember it is war begun;
And you may judge from some attacks, my friend,
What serious conflicts will on war attend.” 
   “Nay, but,” at length the thoughtful man replied,
“I say not that; I wish you for my guide;