As Hume e’er moved for, or Omar burned.
He talked of his virtue—’though some, less nice,
(He owned with a sigh) preferr’d his Vice—
And he said “I think”—“I doubt”—“I hope”—
Call’d God to witness, and damn’d the Pope;
With many more sleights of tongue and hand
I couldn’t for the soul of me understand.
Amaz’d and poz’d, I was just about
To ask his name, when the screams without
The merciless clack of the imps within,