Oh for a forty-parson power [540]—to chant

Thy praise, Hypocrisy! Oh for a hymn

Loud as the virtues thou dost loudly vaunt,

Not practise! Oh for trump of Cherubim!

Or the ear-trumpet of my good old aunt,[541]Who, though her spectacles at last grew dim,

Drew quiet consolation through its hint,

When she no more could read the pious print.