And felt his consequence, and dwelt in peace. 
   Our Hero’s age was threescore years and five,
When he exclaim’d, “Why longer should I strive? 
Why more amass, who never must behold
A young John Dighton to make glad the old?”
(The sons he had to early graves were gone,
And girls were burdens to the mind of John.)
“Had I a boy, he would our name sustain,
That now to nothing must return again;
But what are all my profits, credit, trade,
And parish honours?—­folly and parade.” 
   Thus Dighton thought, and in his looks appeared
Sadness, increased by much he saw and heard;
The Brethren often at the shop would stay,
And make their comments ere they walk’d away;
They mark’d the window, fill’d in every pane
With lawless prints of reputations slain;
Distorted forms of men with honours graced,
And our chief rulers in dirision placed: 
Amazed they stood, remembering well the days
When to be humble was their brother’s praise;
When at the dwelling of their friend they stopped;
To drop a word, or to receive it dropp’d;
Where they beheld the prints of men renown’d,
And far-famed preachers pasted all around,
(Such mouths! eyes! hair! so prim! so fierce! so sleek! 
They look’d as speaking what is woe to speak): 
On these the passing brethren loved to dwell —
How long they spake! how strongly! warmly! well! 
What power had each to dive in mysteries deep,
To warm the cold, to make the harden’d weep;
To lure, to fright, to soothe, to awe the soul,
And listening locks to lead and to control! 
   But now discoursing, as they linger’d near,
They tempted John (whom they accused) to hear
Their weighty charge—­“And can the lost one feel,
As in the time of duty, love, and zeal;
When all were summon’d at the rising sun,
And he was ready with his friends to run;
When he, partaking with a chosen few,
Felt the great change, sensation rich and new? 
No! all is lost; her favours Fortune shower’d
Upon the man, and he is overpower’d;
The world has won him with its tempting store
Of needless wealth, and that has made him poor: 
Success undoes him; he has risen to fall,
Has gain’d a fortune, and has lost his all;
Gone back from Sion, he will find his age
Loth to commence a second pilgrimage;
He has retreated from the chosen track,
And now must ever bear the burden on his back.” 
   Hurt by such censure, John began to find
Fresh revolutions working in his mind;
He sought for comfort in his books, but read
Without a plan or method in his head;
What once amused, now rather made him sad;
What should inform, increased the doubts he had;
Shame would not let him seek at Church a guide,
And from his Meeting he was held by pride;
His wife derided fears she never felt,
And passing brethren daily censures dealt;
Hope for a son was now for ever past,