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CHARACTER

OF

THE

REV. JAMES

FOSTE R.

FROM Codex hear, ye ecclefiaftic men,
This paftoral charge to Webster, Stebbing, Ven;
Attend, ye emblems of your P's mind !
Mark Faith, mark Hope, mark Charity, defin'd;
On terms, whence no ideas ye can draw,

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Pin well your faith, and then pronounce it law;
First wealth, a crofier next, your hope enflame;
And next church-power-a power o'er confcience,
claim;

In modes of worship right of choice deny;

Say, to convert, all means are fair;—add, why? 30 'Tis charitable-let your power decree,

That Perfecution then is Charity;

Call reafon error; forms, not things, difplay;

Let moral doctrine to abftrufe give way;

Sink demonstration; mystery preach alone;

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Be thus Religion's friend, and thus your own.
But Fofter well this honest truth extends-

Where Mystery begins, Religion ends.

In him, great modern miracle! we fee

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A prieft, from avarice and ambition free;
One, whom no perfecuting fpirit fires;
Whose heart and tongue benevolence inspires:
Learn'd, not affuming; eloquent, yet plain;
Meek, though not timorous; confcious, though not
vain;

Without craft, reverend; holy, without cant;

Zealous for truth, without enthufiaft rant.
His faith, where no credulity is feen,
"Twixt infidel and bigot, marks the mean;

His hope, no mitre militant on earth,

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'Tis that bright crown, which heaven referves for worth. A prieft, in charity with all mankind,

His love to virtue, not to fect confin'd:

Truth his delight; from him it flames abroad,

From him, who fears no being, but his God:
In him from Chriftian, moral light can shine;
Not mad with mystery, but a found divine;
He wins the wife and good, with reason's lore;
Then ftrikes their paffions with pathetic power;
Where vice erects her head, rebukes the page;
Mix'd with rebuke, perfuafive charms engage;

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Charms, which th' unthinking must to thought excite;
Lo! vice lefs vicious! virtue more upright:
Him copy, Codex, that the good and wife,
Who fo abhor thy heart, and head defpife,

May fee thee now, though late, redeem thy name, 45
And glorify what else is damn'd to fame,

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But fhould fome churchman, apeing wit severe, The poet 's fure turn'd Baptift-fay, and fneer; Shame on that narrow mind fo often known, Which in one mode of faith, owns worth alone. Sneer on, rail, wrangle! nought this truth repelsVirtue is virtue, wherefoe'er fhe dwells; And fure, where learning gives her light to shine, Her's is all praise-if her's, 'tis Fofter, thine. Thee boaft diffenters; we with pride may own Our Tillotfon; and Rome, her Fenelon*.

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THE

POET's DEPENDANCE

SOM

ON A

STATESMA N.

OME feem to hint, and others proof will bring, That, from neglect, my numerous hardships fpring.

In this Character of the Rev. James Fofter, truth guided the pen of the Mufe. Mr. Pope paid a tribute to the modeft worth of this excellent man: little did he imagine his Rev. Annotator would endeavour to convert his praise into abufe. The character and writings of Fofter will be admired and read, when the works of the bitter Controversialist are forgotten.

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Seek the great man! they cry-'tis then decreed,
In him, if I court fortune, I fucceed.

What friends to fecond? who for me fhould fue, 5
Have interests, partial to themselves, in view.
They own my matchlefs fate compaffion draws;
They all wish well, lament, but drop my caufe.
There are who afk no penfion, want no place,
No title wish, and would accept no grace.
Can I entreat, they fhould for me obtain
The leaft, who greatest for themselves difdain?
A statesman, knowing this, unkind, will cry,

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Thofe love him let thofe ferve him!-why fhould I?
Say, fhall I turn where lucre points my views; 15
At first defert my friends, at length abuse?
But, on lefs terms, in promife he complies:
Years bury years, and hopes on hopes arife;
I truft, am trufted on my fairy gain;
And woes on woes attend, an endless train.

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Be pofts difpos'd at will!-J have, for these, No gold to plead, no impudence to teaze. All fecret fervice from my foul I hate ; All dark intrigues of pleasure, or of state. I have no power, election-votes to gain; No will to hackney out polemic strain ; To shape, as time fhall ferve, my verse, or prose, To flatter thence, nor flur, a courtier's foes Nor him to daub with praife, if I prevail; Nor fhock'd by him with libels to affail. Where these are not, what claim to me belongs? Though mine the Muse and virtue, birth and wrongs.

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Where

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Where lives the statesman, fo in honour clear, To give where he has nought to hope, nor fear? No! there to feek, is but to find fresh pain: The promise broke, renew'd, and broke again; To be, as humour deigns, receiv'd, refus'd; By turns affronted, and by turns amus'd; To lose that time, which worthier thoughts require; To lose the health, which fhould thofe thoughts in

fpire ;

To ftarve on hope; or, like camelions, fare
On minifterial faith, which means but air.

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But ftill, undrooping, I the crew disdain, Who, or by jobs, or libels, wealth obtain. Ne'er let me be, through thofe, from want exempt; 45 In one man's favour, in the world's contempt: Worfe in my own!-through those, to posts who rise, Themselves, in fecret, must themselves despise; Vile, and more vile, till they, at length, disclaim Not fenfe alone of glory, but of fhame.

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What though I hourly see the servile herd, For meannefs honour'd, and for guilt prefer'd; See felfish paffion, public virtue seem ; And public virtue an enthufiaft dream; See favour'd falfehood, innocence belied, Meekness deprefs'd, and power-elated pride; A fcene will fhew, all-righteous vifion haste; The meek exalted, and the proud debas'd!Oh, to be there! -to tread that friendly thore, Where falfehood, pride, and statesmen are no more! 60

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