Wish for your checks and your reproofs—­but then
Be like a conscience of my fellow-men;
Worthy I mean, and men of good report,
And not the wretches who with Conscience sport: 
There’s Bice, my friend, who passes off his grease
Of pigs for bears’, in pots a crown apiece;
His Conscience never checks him when he swears
The fat he sells is honest fat of bears;
And so it is, for he contrives to give
A drachm to each—­’tis thus that tradesmen live;
Now why should you and I be over-nice? 
What man is held in more repute than Bice?”
   Here ended the dispute; but yet ’twas plain
The parties both expected strife again: 
Their friendship cool’d, he look’d about and saw
Numbers who seem’d unshackled by his awe;
While like a schoolboy he was threatened still,
Now for the deed, now only for the will: 
Here Conscience answered “To thy neighbour’s guide
Thy neighbour leave, and in thine own confide.” 
   Such were each day the charges and replies,
When a new object caught the trader’s eyes;
A Vestry-patriot, could he gain the name,
Would famous make him, and would pay the fame. 
He knew full well the sums bequeath’d in charge
For schools, for almsmen, for the poor, were large;
Report had told, and he could feel it true,
That most unfairly dealt the trusted few;
No partners would they in their office take,
Nor clear accounts at annual meetings make. 
Aloud our hero in the vestry spoke
Of hidden deeds, and vow’d to draw the cloak;
It was the poor man’s cause, and he for one
Was quite determined to see justice done: 
His foes affected, laughter, then disdain,
They too were Ioud; and threat’ning, but in vain;
The pauper’s friend, their foe, arose and spoke again;
Fiercely he cried, “Your garbled statements show
That you determine we shall nothing know;
But we shall bring your hidden crimes to light,
Give you to shame, and to the poor their right.” 
   Virtue like this might some approval ask —
But Conscience sternly said, “You wear a mask!”
“At least,” said Fulham, “if I have a view
To serve myself, I serve the public too.” 
   Fulham, though check’d, retain’d his former zeal,
And this the cautious rogues began to feel: 
“Thus will he ever bark,” in peevish tone
An elder cried—­“the cur must have a bone.” 
They then began to hint, and to begin
Was all they needed—­it was felt within: 
In terms less veil’d an offer then was made;
Though distant still, it fail’d not to persuade: 
More plainly then was every point proposed,
Approved, accepted, and the bargain closed. 
The exulting paupers hail’d their Friend’s success,
And bade adieu to murmurs and distress. 
   Alas! their Friend had now superior light,
And, view’d by that, he found that all was right;
“There were no errors, the disbursements small;
This was the truth, and truth was due to all.”