Suppose a man ophthalmic start as oculist...

Suppose a man ophthalmic start as oculist; Of granite-dust alone will his eye-salves consist. So ’tis with all in times of misery and need; Let no one, then, come blindly to our house to feed." Hast never seen reality of famine near? 25 Look well at us; thou’lt see effects of food too dear. Our outward look is black, like dark pretender's heart. This lacks enlightenment, though his exterior's smart. He has no hope of God, nor any good to show, Though more than Seth or Adam he pretend to know.

Ev'n Satan unto him no trace of self has shown, And yet he claims to be a Vicar of God's own. 1 Some Gnostic terms he uses as a plagiarist, That he may lead the people as though secretist. A critic, ’sooth, is he; complains of Bāyezīd; 2 Whereas Yezīd himself would blush at his bald creed. 3 30 Of heavenly bread and table, nothing has he known; The barest bone to him, vile dog, God has not thrown. He pompously proclaims: "My table have I spread; Vicegerent's son, God's Vicar, here am I indeed!

Then welcome, all ye simpletons! Come in; Come in! From table of my bounty fill yourselves within." For years he dupes them with "To-morrow's" promise still. The arrant arch-deceiver, whose "To-morrow's" nil . A long time is required to sound a human mind, To find out what defects may lurk the mask behind. 35 A buried treasure is there under body's wall? Or is it hole of serpent, toad, or scorpion, all?

At length when ’tis discovered, impostor is he, His pupil's life is wasted; what use then to see? But on some rare occasion, pupil of great parts Will come to the impostor, profit by his arts. He comes with good intention to the lecture-hall, Expects a guiding soul; he finds a carcase; all. As when, in dead of night, one does not know the east, 4 To offer one's devotion's licit, turning west. 40 Pretenders carry famine in their heart of hearts. We suffer only want of bread for our repasts.

Why, then, pretender-like, should we our want disguise? Why, for appearance' sake, our soul, too, bastardise? The woman's husband answered: "Pray now, silence keep! Our life is most part o’er. What's left us but to weep?" "The wise man cares not for a little more or less. These both will pass away, like torrent's waywardness. A torrent may be clear, or muddy, black as ink. 45 It will not last.

Why then should we about it think?" "Within this world what millions, living creatures all, A life of joy still lead, quite free from let or fall.