Their victim’s anguish gives their charms applause,
And their chief glory is the woe they cause: 
Something of this was felt, in spite of love,
Which hope, in spite of reason, would remove. 
   Thus lived our youth, with conversation, books,
And Lady Emma’s soul-subduing looks: 
Lost in delight, astonish’d at his lot,
All prudence banish’d, all advice forgot —
Hopes, fears, and every thought, were fix’d upon the spot. 
   ’Twas autumn yet, and many a day must frown
On Brandon-Hall, ere went my Lord to town;
Meantime the father, who had heard his boy
Lived in a round of luxury and joy,
And justly thinking that the youth was one
Who, meeting danger, was unskill’d to shun;
Knowing his temper, virtue, spirit, zeal,
How prone to hope and trust, believe and feel;
These on the parent’s soul their weight impress’d,
And thus he wrote the counsels of his breast:  —
   “John, thou’rt a genius; thou hast some pretence,
I think, to wit,—­but hast thou sterling sense? 
That which, like gold, may through the world go forth,
And always pass for what ’tis truly worth: 
Whereas this genius, like a bill must take
Only the value our opinions make. 
   “Men famed for wit, of dangerous talents vain. 
Treat those of common parts with proud disdain;
The powers that wisdom would, improving, hide,
They blaze abroad with inconsid’rate pride;
While yet but mere probationers for fame,
They seize the honour they should then disclaim;
Honour so hurried to the light must fade,
The lasting laurels flourish in the shade. 
   “Genius is jealous:  I have heard of some
Who, if unnoticed, grew perversely dumb;
Nay, different talents would their envy raise;
Poets have sicken’d at a dancer’s praise;
And one, the happiest writer of his time,
Grew pale at hearing Reynolds was sublime;
That Rutland’s Duchess wore a heavenly smile —
‘And I,’ said he, ‘neglected all the while!’
   “A waspish tribe are these, on gilded wings,
Humming their lays, and brandishing their stings: 
And thus they move their friends and foes among,
Prepared for soothing or satiric song. 
   “Hear me, my Boy; thou hast a virtuous mind —
But be thy virtues of the sober kind;
Be not a Quixote, ever up in arms
To give the guilty and the great alarms: 
If never heeded, thy attack is vain;
And if they heed thee, they’ll attack again;
Then too in striking at that heedless rate,
Thou in an instant may’st decide thy fate. 
   “Leave admonition—­let the vicar give
Rules how the nobles of his flock should live;
Nor take that simple fancy to thy brain,
That thou canst cure the wicked and the vain. 
   “Our Pope, they say, once entertain’d the whim,
Who fear’d not God should be afraid of him;
But grant they fear’d him, was it further said,
That he reform’d the hearts he made afraid? 
Did Chartres mend?  Ward, Waters, and a score