To drink untroubled and to think unchain’d,
And on all pleasues, which his purse could give,
Freely to seize, and while he lived, to live.” 
   Much time he pass’d in this important strife,
The bliss or bane of his remaining life;
For converts all are made with care and grief,
And pangs attend the birth of unbelief;
Nor pass they soon;—­with awe and fear he took
The flowery way, and cast back many a look. 
   The youths applauded much his wise design,
With weighty reasoning o’er their evening wine;
And much in private ’twould their mirth improve,
To hear how Abel spake of life and love;
To hear him own what grievous pains it cost,
Ere the old saint was in the sinner lost,
Ere his poor mind, with every deed alarm’d,
By wit was settled, and by vice was charm’d. 
   For Abel enter’d in his bold career,
Like boys on ice, with pleasure and with fear;
Lingering, yet longing for the joy, he went,
Repenting now, now dreading to repent: 
With awkward pace, and with himself at war,
Far gone, yet frighten’d that he went so far;
Oft for his efforts he’d solicit praise,
And then proceed with blunders and delays: 
The young more aptly passions’ calls pursue,
But age and weakness start at scenes so new,
And tremble, when they’ve done, for all they dared to do. 
   At length example Abel’s dread removed,
With small concern he sought the joys he loved;
Not resting here, he claim’d his share of fame,
And first their votary, then their wit became;
His jest was bitter and his satire bold,
When he his tales of formal brethren told;
What time with pious neighbours he discuss’d,
Their boasted treasure and their boundless trust: 
“Such were our dreams,” the jovial elder cried;
“Awake and live,” his youthful friends replied. 
   Now the gay clerk a modest drab despised,
And clad him smartly, as his friends advised;
So fine a coat upon his back he threw,
That not an alley-boy old Abel knew;
Broad polish’d buttons blazed that coat upon,
And just beneath the watch’s trinkets shone, —
A splendid watch, that pointed out the time,
To fly from business and make free with crime: 
The crimson waistcoat and the silken hose
Rank’d the lean man among the Borough beaux: 
His raven hair he cropp’d with fierce disdain,
And light elastic locks encased his brain: 
More pliant pupil who could hope to find,
Se deck’d in person and so changed in mind? 
   When Abel walked the streets, with pleasent mien
He met his friends, delighted to be seen;
And when he rode along the public way,
No beau so gaudy, and no youth so gay. 
   His pious sister, now an ancient maid,
For Abel fearing, first in secret pray’d;
Then thus in love and scorn her notions she convey’d. 
   “Alas! my brother! can I see thee pace
Hoodwink’d to hell, and not lament thy case,
Nor stretch my feeble hand to stop thy headlong race?