At length his Master, dealer, smuggler, cheat,
As John would call him in his temper’s heat,
Proposed a something—what, is dubious still— 230
That John resisted with a stout good-will.
Scruples like his were treated with disdain,
Whose waking conscience spurn’d the offer’d gain.
“Quit then my office, scoundrel, and begone!”
“I dare not do it,” said the affrighten’d John.
“What fear’st thou, driveller! can thy fancy tell?”
“I doubt,” said John—“I’m sure, there is a hell.”