Am I deceiv'd? or by some sudden slight,
A starch'd tub-preacher now he strikes the sight,
(Quick the transition, and unseen the art!)
Pale and entirely chang'd in ev'ry part,
His short'ned visage, and fantastick dress,
The mad fantastick to the life express;
That small silk cap; those puritanick hairs,
Crop'd to the quick, and circling round his ears;
That rounded face the Mimick here proclaim,
How very different, yet how still the same!
Now he, by just degrees, his-silence breaks;
His frantick silence mutt'ring ere he speaks:
Protracted hums the solemn farce begin,
And groans and pauses interrupt the scene;
As each in just succession comes and goes,
Work'd to its pitch, the spirit stronger grows,
And squeezes out his eyes, and twangs his vocal nose.
Now quick and rapid, and in rage more loud,
A storm of nonsense bursts upon the crowd:
His hand and voice proclaim the gen'ral doom,
While this the hour-glass shakes, and that the room.
On nature's ruins all his doctrines dwell,
And throw wide open every gate of hell.