But most it grieves me (friends alone are round),
To see a man in priestly fetters bound;
Guides to the soul, these friends of Heaven contrive,
Long as man lives, to keep his fears alive: 
Soon as an infant breathes, their rites begin;
Who knows not sinning, must be freed from sin;
Who needs no bond, must yet engage in vows;
Who has no judgment, must a creed espouse: 
Advanced in life, our boys are bound by rules,
Are catechised in churches, cloisters, schools,
And train’d in thraldom to be fit for tools: 
The youth grown up, he now a partner needs,
And lo! a priest, as soon as he succeeds. 
What man of sense can marriage-rites approve? 
What man of spirit can be bound to love? 
Forced to be kind! compell’d to be sincere! 
Do chains and fetters make companions dear? 
Pris’ners indeed we bind; but though the bond
May keep them safe, it does not make them fond: 
The ring, the vow, the witness, licence, prayers,
All parties known! made public all affairs! 
Such forms men suffer, and from these they date
A deed of love begun with all they hate: 
Absurd! that none the beaten road should shun,
But love to do what other dupes have done. 
   “Well, now your priest has made you one of twain,
Look you for rest?  Alas! you look in vain. 
If sick, he comes; you cannot die in peace,
Till he attends to witness your release;
To vex your soul, and urge you to confess
The sins you feel, remember, or can guess;
Nay, when departed, to your grave he goes —
But there indeed he hurts not your repose. 
   “Such are our burthens; part we must sustain,
But need not link new grievance to the chain: 
Yet men like idiots will their frames surround
With these vile shackles, nor confess they’re bound;
In all that most confines them they confide,
Their slavery boast, and make their bonds their pride;
E’en as the pressure galls them, they declare
(Good souls!) how happy and how free they are! 
As madmen, pointing round their wretched cells,
Cry, ‘Lo! the palace where our honour dwells.’ 
   “Such is our state:  but I resolve to live
By rules my reason and my feelings give;
No legal guards shall keep enthrall’d my mind,
No Slaves command me, and no teachers blind. 
Tempted by sins, let me their strength defy,
But have no second in a surplice by;
No bottle-holder, with officious aid,
To comfort conscience, weaken’d and afraid: 
Then if I yield, my frailty is not known;
And, if I stand, the glory is my own. 
   “When Truth and Reason are our friends, we seem
Alive! awake!—­the superstitious dream. 
Oh! then, fair truth, for thee alone I seek,
Friend to the wise, supporter of the weak;
From thee we learn whate’er is right and just: 
Forms to despise, professions to distrust;
Creeds to reject, pretensions to deride,
And, following thee, to follow none beside.”