finishing his song, which concluded
with these words:

"Since life is no more than a passage at best,
Let us strew the way over with flowers."

When Will had concluded his song, he turned to Mr. Stock, and said,
"I thank you, master, for first putting it into my head how wicked
it is to sing profane and indecent songs. I never sing any now which
have any wicked words in them."

_Stock._ I am glad to hear it. So far you do well. But there are
other things as bad as wicked words, nay worse perhaps, though they
do not so much shock the ear of decency.

_Will._ What is that, master? What can be so bad as wicked words?

_Stock._ Wicked _thoughts_, Will. Which thoughts, when they are
covered with smooth words, and dressed out in pleasing rhymes, so as
not to shock modest young people by the sound, do more harm to their
principles, than those songs of which the words are so gross and
disgusting, that no person of common decency can for a moment listen
to them.

_Will._ Well, master, I am sure that was a very pretty song I was
singing when you came in, and a song which very sober, good people
sing.

_Stock._ Do they? Then I will be bold to say that singing such songs
is no part of their goodness. I heard indeed but two lines of it,
but they were so heathenish that I desire to hear no more.

_Will._ Now you are really too hard. What harm could there be in it?
There was not one indecent word.

_Stock._ I own, indeed, that indecent words are particularly
offensive. But, as I said before, though immodest expressions offend
the ear more, they do not corrupt the heart, perhaps, much more than
songs of which the words are decent, and the principle vicious. In
the latter case, because there is nothing that shocks his ear, a man
listens till the sentiment has so corrupted his heart, that his ears
grow hardened too; by long custom he loses all sense of the danger
of profane diversions; and I must say I have often heard young women
of character sing songs in company, which I should be ashamed to
read by myself. But come, as we work, let us talk over this business
a little; and first let us stick to this sober song of yours, that
you boast so much about. (_repeats_)

"Since life is no more than a passage at best,
Let us strew the way over with flowers."

Now what do you learn by this?

_Will._ Why, master, I don't pretend to learn much by it. But 'tis a
pretty tune and pretty words.

_Stock._ But what do