^'
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 k
 
 ^-/1 4 
 
 iO/ 
 
 /
 
 POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE REV. GEORGE CRABBE, LL.B, 
 
 Ipse per Ausonias ^neVa carmina gentes 
 Qui sonat, ingenti qui nomine pulsat Olympum^ 
 Maeoniumque senem Romano provocat ore : 
 Forsitan illius nemoris latuisset in umbra 
 Quod canit> et sterili tantum eantasset avena 
 Ignotus populi ; si Maecenate careret. 
 
 Paoeg. ad Pisones, Luc^k. 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 EoittJon : 
 
 PRINTED FOR J. HATCHARD, 
 
 BOOKSELLER TO HER MAJESTY, OPPOSITE ALBANY, 
 PICCADILLY. 
 
 1808.
 
 liretUU fy Co, Printert, 
 Marshall'Street, Golden-Square.
 
 3BelJicattott. 
 
 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 HENRY-RICHARD FOX, 
 
 LORD HOLLAND, 
 
 OF HOLLAND, LN LLNCOLNSHIRE ; 
 LORD HOLLAND, OF FOXLEY; 
 
 AND 
 
 FELLOW OF THE SOCIETY OF ANTIQUARIES. 
 
 MY LORD ; 
 
 1 HAT the longest Poem in this 
 Collection was honoured by the notice of your 
 Lordship's Right Honourable and ever-valued 
 Relation^ Mr. Fox ; that it should be the last 
 which engaged his attention ; and that some 
 parts of it were marked with his approbation ; 
 are circumstances productive of better hopes of 
 
 a 3 
 
 IIC^GSOS
 
 VI 
 
 ultimate success, than I had dared to entertain 
 before I was gratified with a knowledge of them t 
 And the hope thus raised, leads me to ask per- 
 mission that I may dedicate this Book to your 
 Lordship, to whom that truly great and greatly 
 lamented Personage was so nearly allied in family, 
 so closely bound in affection, and in whose mind 
 presides the same critical taste which he exerted 
 to the delight of all who heard him. He doubt- 
 less united with his unequalled abilities, a fund 
 of good-nature ; and this possibly led him to speak 
 favourably of, and give satisfaction to writers, 
 with whose productions he might not be entirely 
 satisfied ; nor nmst I allow myself to suppose his 
 desire of obliging was withholden, when he ho- 
 noured any effort of mine with his approbation : 
 But, my Lord, as there was discrimination in 
 the opinion he gave; as he did not veil indif- 
 ference for insipid mediocrity of composition 
 under any general expression of cool approval ; i 
 allow myself to draw a favourable conclusion from 
 the verdict of One who had the superiority of in- 
 tellect few would dispute, which he made mani-
 
 Vll 
 
 fest by a force of eloquence peculiar to himself ; 
 whose excellent judgement, no one of his friends 
 found cause to distrust, and whose acknowledged 
 candour no enemy had the temerity to deny. 
 
 With such encouragement, I present my Book 
 to your Lordship : the Account of the Life and 
 Writings of Lopez de Vega, has taught me 
 what I am to expect ; I there perceive how your 
 Lordship can write, and am there taught how 
 you can judge of writers : my faults, however nu- 
 merous, I know will none of them escape through 
 inattention, nor will any merit be lost for want of 
 discernment ; My verses are before him who has 
 written elegantly, who has judged with accuracy, 
 and who has given unequivocal proof of abilities 
 in a work of difficulty ; — a translation of poetry, 
 which few persons in this kingdom are able to 
 read, and in the estimation of talents not hitherto 
 justly appreciated : In this view, I cannot but 
 feel some apprehension : but I know also, that 
 your Lordship is apprised of the great difficulty 
 of writing well ; that you will make much allow- 
 ance for failures, if not too frequently repeated -.
 
 VJU 
 
 and, as you can accurately discern, so you will 
 readily approve, all the better and more happy 
 efforts of one, who places the highest value upon 
 your Lordship's approbation ; and who has the 
 honour to be, 
 
 MY LOUD, 
 
 Your Lordship's most faithful, 
 and 
 obliged humble Servant, 
 
 GEO. CRABBE.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 About twenty-five years since, was published a 
 Poem called The Library ; which, in no long time, 
 was followed by two others, The Village, and The 
 Newspaper : These, with a few alterations and addi- 
 tions, are here reprinted ; and are accompanied by 
 a Poem of greater length, and several shorter attempts, 
 now, for the first time, before the Public ; whose re- 
 ception of them creates in their Author, something 
 |nore than common solicitude, because he conceives 
 •that, with the judgement to be formed of these latter 
 productions, upon whatever may be found intrinsi- 
 cally meritorious or defective, there will be united an 
 enquiry into the relative degree of praise or blame, 
 which they may be thought to deserve, when tom« 
 pared with the more early attempts of the same 
 ■Writer.
 
 And certainly, ^^ere it the principal employment of 
 a man's life, to compose Verses, it might seem rea- 
 sonable to expect, that he Mould continue to improve 
 as loni^ as he continued to live; though, even then, 
 there is some doubt whether such improvement would 
 follow, and perhaps proof might be adduced to shew, 
 it would not : but when to this " idle trade.,'''' is add- 
 ed some " caW)ig,''' with superior claims upon liis 
 time and attention, his progress in the art of Versi- 
 fication will probably be in proportion neither to the 
 years he has lived, nor even to the attempts he has 
 made. 
 
 While composing the first- published of these 
 Poems, the Author was honoured with the notice 
 and assisted by the advice of the RigJit Jlonourahlc 
 Edmund Burke;: Part of it was written in his pre- 
 sence, and the whole submitted to his judgement ; re- 
 ceiving, in its progress, the benefit ofli is correction : 
 I hope therefore to obtain pardon of the reader, if/ 
 eagerly seize the occasion, and- after so long a silence, 
 endeavour to express a grateful sense of tljc benefits I 
 have Received from this Gentleman, who was solici- 
 tous for my more essential interests, as well as benevo- 
 lently anxious for my credit as a writer. 
 
 I will not enter upon the subject of his extraordinary 
 abilitie? ; it would he vanit}-, it would be weakness
 
 XI 
 
 in me to believe that I could make them better known 
 or more admired than thoj now are ; but of his private 
 worth, of his wishes to do good, of his affability and 
 condescension ; his readiness to lend assistance when he 
 knew it was wanted, and his delight to give praise where 
 he thought it was deserved : of these I may write 
 trith some propriety : all know that his powers were 
 vast, his acquirements various, and I take leave to 
 add, that he applied them, with unremitted atten- 
 tion, to those objects which he believed tended to the 
 honour and welfare of his country ; but it may not 
 be so generally understood that he was ever assidu- 
 ous in the more private duties of a benevolent nature, 
 that he delighted to give encouragement to any pro- 
 mise of ability and assistance to any appearance of 
 desert; to what purposes he employed his pen, and 
 with what eloquence he spake in the senate, will be 
 told by many, who yet may be ignorant of the solid 
 instruction as well as the fascinating pleasantry found 
 in his common conversation, among his friends, and 
 his affectionate manners, amiable disposition, and 
 zeal for their happiness, which he manifested in the 
 hours of retirement with his family. 
 
 To this Gentleman I was indebted for my knowledge 
 of Sir Joshua Reynold?, who was as well known to
 
 Xll 
 
 his friends, for his perpetual fund of good-humour, 
 and his unceasing wishes to oblige, as he was to the 
 jjublic, for the extraordinary productions of his pen- 
 cil and his pen : By him I was favoured with an in- 
 troduction to Doctor Johnson, who honoured me 
 with his notice and assisted me, as Mr. Boswell 
 has told, with Remarks and Emendations for a Poem 
 I was about to publish * : The Doctor had been often 
 wearied by applications, and did not readily comply 
 with requests, for his opinion ; not from any unwil- 
 lingness to oblige, but from a painful contention in his 
 mind, between a desire of giving pleasure and a deter- 
 mination to speak truth. No man can, I think, 
 publish a work without some expectation of satisfying 
 those who are to judge of its merit : but I can, with 
 the utmost regard to veracity, speak my fears, as pre- 
 dominating over every pre- indulged thought of a more 
 favourable nature, when I was told that a judge so 
 discerning, had consented to read and give his opi- 
 nion of the Village, the poem I had prepared for 
 publication. The time of suspence was not long pro- 
 tracted ; I was soon favoured with a few words from 
 Sir Joshua, who observed, — ' If I knew how cau- 
 
 * See the Life of S. Jolmson, by Boswell, vol. iv. p. 185, 
 8vo. edit.
 
 Xlll 
 
 * tious Doctor Johnson was in giving commcncla- 
 ' tion, I should be well satisfied Avilh ihc porlion 
 < dealt to me in his letter,'— Of that letter the fol- 
 lowing is a copy : 
 
 " Sir ■ 
 
 *' I have sent you back Mr. CiiAnBE's 
 *"' Poem ; which I read with great delight. It is 
 ** original, vigorous, and elegant. — The alterations 
 *' which I have made, I do not require him to adopt; 
 " for, my lines are, perhaps, not often better [than] 
 *' his own : but he may take mine and his own to- 
 *' gether, and perhaps, between them, produce some- 
 " thing better than either. — He is not to think his 
 " copy wantonly defaced : A wet sponge will wasli 
 *' all the red lines away, and leave the pages clean.— • 
 *' His Dedication* will be least liked : it were better 
 *' to contract it into a short sprightly Address. — I do 
 ** not doubt of Mr. Cuabbe's success. 
 
 *' I am. Sill, your most humble servant, 
 «MarchA,m3." "SAM: JOHNSON." 
 
 * Neither of these were adopted ; the Author had written, 
 about that time, some Verses to the memory of Lord Robert 
 Manners, Brother to the late Duke of Rutland ; and these, 
 by a junction, it is presumed, not forced or uniiaUirai, form tlic 
 concUiding part of the Fillagc.
 
 XIV 
 
 That I was fully satisfied, my readers will do mc 
 tlie justice to believe; and I liope they will pardon me, 
 if there should appear to them any impropriety in 
 publishing the favourable opinion expressed in a pri- 
 vate letter; they will judge, and truly, that by so 
 doing I wish to bespeak their good opinion, but have 
 no design of extorting tlieir applause : I would not 
 hazard an appearance so ostentatious, to gratify my 
 vanity, but I venture to do it, in compliance with 
 my fears. 
 
 After these was published the Newspaper : it 
 had not the advantage of sucli previous criticism from 
 my friends, nor perhaps so much of my own atten- 
 tion as I ought to have given to it; but the impres- 
 sion was disposed of, and 1 will not pay so little re- 
 !?pcct totlic judgement of my readers, as now to sup- 
 press, what they then approved. 
 
 Since the publication of this Poem, more than 
 twenty years have elapsed, an<l I am not without ap- 
 prehension, lest so long a silence should be con- 
 strued into a blameable neglect of my own interest 
 which those excellent friends were desirous of pro- 
 moting; or what is yet worse, into a want of grati- 
 tude for their assistance; since it becomes me to sup- 
 pose, they considered these first attempts as promises 
 *»f better thing--^, nud their favours as stimulants to
 
 XV 
 
 future exertion; and here, be the construction put 
 upon my apparent negligence what it may^ let me 
 not suppress my testimony to the liberality of those 
 who are looked up to, as patrons and encouragers of 
 literary merit, or indeed of merit of any kind : their 
 patronage has never been refused, I conceive, when 
 it has been reasonably expected or modestly required, 
 and it would be difficult, probably, to instance, in 
 these times and in this country, any one who merited 
 €r was supposed to merit assistance, but who never- 
 theless languished in obscurity or necessity for want 
 of it; unless in those cases, where it was prevented 
 by the resolution of impatient pride, or wearied by 
 the solicitations of determined profligacy. — And while 
 the subject is before me, I am unwilling to pass 
 silently over the debt of gratitude which I owe to the 
 memory of two deceased noblemen. His Grace the late 
 Di(ke 0/ Rutland, and The liight Honour able the 
 Lord Thuulow : sensible of the honour done me by 
 their notice and the benefits received from them, I 
 trust this acknowledgement will be imputed to its only 
 motive, a grateful sense of their favours. 
 
 Upon this subject 1 could dwell with much plea- 
 sure ; but to give a reason for that appearance of ne- 
 glect, as it is more difficult, so happily it is less re- 
 quired : In truth I have, for many years, intended are-
 
 XVI 
 
 publication of these Poems, as soon as I sliould be able 
 to join with them, such other of later date, as might 
 not deprive me of the little credit, the former had 
 obtained. Long indeed has this purpose been pro- 
 crastinated : and if the duties of a profession, not be- 
 fore pressing upon me ; if the claims of a situation, 
 at that time untried ; if difBdence of my own judge- 
 ment, and the loss of ray earliest friends, will not 
 sufficiently account for my delaj-, I must rely upon 
 the good-nature of my reader, that he will let them 
 avail as far as be can, and find an additional apolog} 
 in my fears of his ccnsirre. 
 
 These fears being so prevalent with me, I deter- 
 mined not to publish anything more, unless I could 
 first obtain the sanction of such opinion, as I might 
 with some confidence rely upon : I looked for a friend 
 who, having the discerning taste of ilfr. Burke, and 
 the critical sagacity of Doctor Johnson, would be- 
 stow upon my MS. the attention requisite to form his 
 opinion, and would then favour me with the result 
 of his observations: and it was ray singular good 
 fortune to gain such assistance ; the opinion of a 
 critic so qualified, and a friend so disposed to favoui; 
 me. I had been honoured by an introduction to the 
 Right Honourable Charles-James Fox, some years 
 before, at the seat of Mr. Burke ; and being again
 
 XVll 
 
 TviA him, I received a promise tbat he would peruse 
 any work I might send to him previous to its pul)U- 
 cation, and would give me his opinion. At that time, 
 I did not think myself sufficiently prepared ; and 
 when, afterwards, I had collected some Poems for his 
 inspection, I found my Right Honourable Friend en- 
 gaged by the affairs of a great empire, and struggling 
 with the inveteracy of a fatal disease : at such time, 
 upon such mind, ever disposed to oblige as that mind 
 was, I could not obtrude the petty business of criti- 
 cizing verses : but he remembered the promise he had 
 kindly given, and repeated an offer, which though I 
 had not presumed to expect, I was happy to receive. 
 A copy of the Poems, now first published, was imme- 
 diately sent to him, and (as I have the information 
 from Z/orc? Holland, and his Lordship's permission 
 to inform my Readers) the Poem which I have 
 named The Parish Register, was heard by Mr. 
 Fox, and it excited interest enough, by some of its 
 parts, to gain for me the benefit of his judgement upon 
 the whole: Whatever he approved, the Reader will 
 readily believe, I have carefully retained ; the parts 
 he disliked are totally expunged, and others are sub- 
 stituted, which I hope resemble those, more conform- 
 able to the taste of so admirable a judge ; nor can I 
 .deny myself the melancholy satisfaction of adding 
 
 b
 
 XVlll 
 
 that this Poem, Cand more especially the story of 
 Phoebe Dawson*, -with some purls of the second 
 book) were the last compositions of their kind, that 
 ens^a^ed and amused the capacious, the candid, the 
 benevolent mhid of this great Man. 
 
 The above information I owe to the favour of TItc 
 Right Honourable JLorc? Holland; nor this only, 
 but to his Lordship I am indebted for some excellent 
 remarks upon other parts of my MS. It was not indeed 
 my good fortune then to know that my verses were in 
 the hands of a Nobleman who had given proof of 
 his accurate judgement as a critic, and hb elegance as 
 a writer, by favouring the public with an easy and spi- 
 riied translation of some interesting scenes of a dra- 
 matic poet, not often read in this kingdom : The Life 
 of Lope de Vega was then unknown to me ; I had, in 
 common with many English readers, heard of him, but 
 could not judge whether liis far-extended reputation 
 was caused by the sublime efforts of a mighty genius, 
 or the unequalled facility of a rapid composer, aided 
 b}' peculiar and fortunate circumstances. — That any 
 part of my MS. was honoured by the remarks of 
 Lord Ho J LAND, yields me an high degree of satis- 
 faction, and his Lordship will perceive the use I have 
 
 * See Pajre 77.
 
 XIX 
 
 made of them, but I must feel some regret when / 
 know to what small portion they were limited ; and 
 discerning as I do, the taste and judgement bestowed 
 apon the verses of Lope de Vega, I must perceive 
 how much my own needed the assistance afforded to 
 one, who cannot be sensible of the benefit he has 
 received. 
 
 But how niucih soever I may lament the advantages 
 lost, let me remember with gratitude the helps I have 
 obtained : With a single exception, every poem in the 
 ensuing collection has been submitted to the critical 
 sagacity of a gentleman, upon whose skill and can- 
 dour their Author could rely : to publish by advice of 
 friends, has been severely ridiculed, and that too by 
 a poet, who probably without such advice, never made 
 public any verses of his own ; in fact, it may not be 
 easily determined who acts with less discretion, the 
 writer who is encouraged to publish his works, merely 
 by the advice of friends whom he consulted, or he 
 ^tho against advice publishes from the sole ertcourage- 
 rtient of his own opinion : these are deceptions to be 
 carefully avoided, and I was hiippy to escape the latter, 
 by the friendly attentions of the Reverend Richard 
 Turner, Minister of Great Yarmouth. To this 
 gentleman I am indebted, more than I am able to 
 describe, or than he is willing to allow, for the time he 
 b §
 
 XX 
 
 Las bestowed upon the attempts I have made. He is 
 indeed, the kind of critic for whom every poet should 
 devoutly wish, and the friend whom ievery man would 
 be happy to acquire ; he has taste to discern all that 
 is meritorious, and sagacity to detect whatsoever 
 should be discarded ; he gives just the opinion an au- 
 thor's wisdom should covet, however his vanity might 
 prompt him to reject it; what altogether to expunge 
 and what to improve he has repeatedly taught me, 
 and, could I have obeyed him in the latter direction as 
 I invariably have in the former, the public would have 
 found this collection more worthy its attention, and I 
 should have sought the opinion of the critic more void 
 of apprehension. 
 
 But whatever I may hope or fear, whatever assistance 
 I have had or have needed, it becomes me to leave my 
 verses to the judgement of the reader, without my en- 
 deavour to point out their merit or an apology for their 
 defects: j'et as, among the poetical attempts of one who 
 has been for many years a priest, it may seem a want of 
 respect for the legitimate objects of his study, that 
 nothing occurs, unless it be incidentally, of the great 
 subjects of Religion ; so it may appear a kind of in- 
 gratitude in a beneficed clergyman, that"he has not 
 employed his talent (be it estimated as it may) to some 
 patriotic . purpose ; as in celebrating the unsubdued
 
 XXI 
 
 ispirit of his countrymen in their glorious resistance of 
 those enemies, who woiild have no peace throughout 
 the world, except that which is dictated to the droop- 
 ing spirit of suffering humanity by the triumphant 
 insolence of military success. 
 
 Credit will be given to me I hope, when I affirm 
 that subjects so interesting have the due weight with 
 me, which the sacred nature of the one and the na- 
 tional importance of the other must impress upon 
 every mind, not seduced into carelessness for religion, 
 by the lethargic influence of a perverted philosophy, 
 nor into indifference for the cause of our country, by 
 hyperbolical or hypocritical professions of universal 
 philanthropy ; but after many efforts to satisfy my- 
 self by various trials on these subjects, I declined all 
 further attempt, from a conviction that I should not 
 be able to give satisfaction to my readers : poetry of 
 religious nature must indeed ever be clogged with al- 
 most insuperable difficulty : but there are doubtless to 
 be found, poets who are well qualified to celebrate 
 the unanimous and heroic spirit of our countrymen, 
 and to describe in appropriate colours some of those 
 extraordinary scenes, which have been and are shift- 
 ing in the face of Europe, with such dreadful celerity ; 
 <ind to such I relinquish the duty. 
 
 It remains for me to give the reader, a brief view
 
 of tliose articles in the following collection, ■which for 
 the first time solicit his attention. 
 
 In the PARisH-REGisTiiR, he will find au endeavour 
 once more to describe Village-Manners, not by adopt- 
 ing the notion of pastoral simplicity or assuming ideas 
 of rustic barbarity, but by more natural views of the 
 peasantry, considered as a mixed body of persons sober 
 or profligate, and from hence, in a great measure, 
 contented or miserable. To this more general descrip- 
 tion are added, the various characters which occur in 
 the three parts of a Register; Baptisms, Marriages, 
 and Burials. 
 
 U the Birth of FLAXTEur offer no moral, as an 
 appendage to the fable, it is hoped, that nothing of 
 an immoral, nothing of improper tendency will be 
 imputed to a piece of poetical playfulness ; in fact, 
 genuine praise, like all other species of truth, is known 
 by its bearing full investigation : it is what the giver 
 is happy that he can justly bestow, and the receiver 
 conscious that he may boldly accept ; but adulation 
 must ever be afraid of enquiry, and must, in propor- 
 tion to their degrees of moral sensibility, 
 
 Be shame " to him that gives and him that takes." 
 
 The verses in p. 211, want a title, nor does the 
 motto, although it gave occasion to them, altogether 
 express the sense of the writer, who meant to observe
 
 XXIIl 
 
 that sdme of our best acquisitions, and some of our 
 nobler conquests are rendered ineffectual, by the pass- 
 ing away of opportunity and the changes made by 
 time ; an argument that such acquirements and moral 
 habits are reserved for a state of being, in -which they 
 may have the uses here denied them. 
 
 In the story of Sir Eustace Grey, an attempt is 
 made to describe the wanderings of a mind first irri- 
 tated by the consequences of error and misfortune, 
 ami afterwards soothed by a species of enthusiastic 
 conversion, still keeping him insane : a task very diffi- 
 cult, and if the presumption of the attempt may find 
 pardon, it will not be refused to the failure of the poet ; 
 It is said of our Shakespeare, respecting madness ; 
 
 " In that circle none dare walk but he:" — 
 yet be it granted to one, who dares not to pass the 
 boundary fixed for common minds, at least to step near 
 to tlie tremendous verge and form some idea of the 
 terrors that are stalking in the interdicted space. 
 
 When first I had written Aaron, or The Gipsey; 
 I had no unfavourable opinion of it ; and had I been, 
 collecting my verses at that time for publication, I 
 should certainly have included this tale. Nine years 
 have since elapsed, and I continue to judge the same 
 of it, thus literally obeying one of the directions 
 given by the prudeiice of criticism to the eagerness of
 
 XXIV 
 
 the poet : but how far I may have conformed to rule^ 
 of more importance, must be left to the less partial 
 judgement of the readers. 
 
 The concluding poem, intitled Woman !, was 
 written at the time when the quotation from Mr. 
 Led YARD was first made public ; the expression has 
 since become hackneyed ; but the sentiment is conge- 
 nial with our feelings, and though somewhat ampli- 
 fied in these verses, it is hoped they are not so far 
 extended as to become tedious. 
 
 After this brief account of his subjects, the Author 
 leaves them to their fate, not presuming to make any 
 remarks upon the kinds of versification he has 
 chosen, or the merit of the execution ; he has in- 
 deed brought forward the favourable opinion of his 
 friends, and for that he earnestly hopes his motives 
 will be rightlj-^ understood ; it was a step of which he 
 felt the advantage while he foresaw the danger ; he was 
 aware of the benefit, if his readers would consider 
 him as one who puts on a defensive armour against 
 hasty and determined severity ; but he feels also the 
 hazard, lest they should suppose he looks upon him- 
 self to be guarded by his friends and so secure in the 
 defence, that he may defy the fair judgement of legal 
 criticism : it will probably be said, ' he has brought 
 ' with him his testimonials to the bar of the public;'
 
 XXV 
 
 and he must admit the truth of the remark: but he 
 begs leave to observe in reply, that, of those who 
 bear testimonials of any kind, the greater numbers 
 feel apprehension, and not security ; they are indeed 
 so far from the enjoyment of victory or the exultation 
 of triumph, that, with all they can do for themselves, 
 with all their friends have done for them, they are, 
 like him, in dread of examination and in fear of dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 Muston, Leicestershire, 
 September 1807.
 
 ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 fHE READEIl 
 
 JLN this Edition of his Poems^ the Author has 
 endeavoured to avail himself of such Remarks 
 as have been communicated to him since the 
 pubhcation of his Work ; and so far as the time 
 allowed, he has sought to make the Improvements 
 suggested : he is nevertheless conecious that much 
 remains to be done, and must intreat the Indul- 
 gence of his Readers, if they still perceive many 
 Places to which he ought to have directed his 
 Attention ; some which required Retrenchment ; 
 and not a few, which (with advantage to the 
 Book) might have been altogether expunged. 
 
 July 26, 1808.
 
 XXVll 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Village 1 
 
 Book I. . 3 
 
 Book 11. 19 
 
 The Parish Register 31 
 
 Part I. — Baptisms 35 
 
 Part II. — Marriages 69 
 
 Part III. — Burials 95 
 
 The library 137 
 
 The Newspaper 167 
 
 The Birth of Flatter!/ 191 
 
 Pejlections upo7i the Subject — "^ 
 
 " Quid juvat errorcs, mersa jam puppe, fateri ? > 209 
 " Quid iacrymae ddictajuvantcommissasecuts?" 3 
 
 Sir Eustace Grey 217 
 
 The Hall of Justice 239 
 
 Part I. 241 
 
 Part II. 247 
 
 WomanJ 255
 
 THE VILLAGE 
 
 IN TWO BOOKS. 
 BOOK 1.
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 The Subject proposed. — Remarks upon Pastoral Poetry A Tract 
 
 of Country near the Coast described.— An Impoverished Bo- 
 rough. — Smugglers and their Assistants. — Eudc Manners ot" 
 the Inhabitants. — Ruinous Effects of an high Tide. — The 
 Village Life more generally considered : Evils of it — The 
 youthful Labourer. — The Old Man: his Soliloquy. — ^The 
 Parish Workhouse: its Inhabitants. — The Sick Poor: their 
 Apothecary. — The dying Pauper. — ^The Village Priest.
 
 THE 
 
 VILLAGE. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 X HE Village Life and every care that reigns 
 O'er youthful Peasants and declining Swains ; 
 What labour yields and what, that labour past, 
 Age, in its hour of languor, fiuds at last ; 
 What form the real picture of the Poor, 
 Demand a Song — the Muse can give no more. 
 
 Fled are those times, when, in harmonious strains, 
 The rustic Poet prais'd his native Plains ; 
 No Shepherds now in smooth alternate verse, 
 Their Country's beauty or their Nymphs' rehearse ; 
 Yet still for these we frame the tender strain, 
 Still in our lays fond Corydons complain, 
 
 B 2
 
 And Shepherds' boys, their amorous pains reveal, 
 The only pains, alas ! they never feel. 
 
 On MiNcio's banks, in Cesar's bounteous reign, 
 If TiTYRus found the Golden Age again. 
 Must sleepy bards the flaftering dream prolong. 
 Mechanic echoes of the Mantnan song ? 
 From Truth and Nature shall we -widely stray, 
 Where Virgil, not where Fancy, leads the way ? 
 
 Yes, thus (he Muses sing of happy Swains, 
 Because the Muses never knew their pains : 
 They boast their Peasants' pipes : but Peasants now 
 Resign their pipes and plod behind the plough ; 
 And few amid the Rural-tribe have time, 
 To number syllables and play with rhyme ; 
 Save honest Duck, what son of Verse could share 
 The Poet's rapture and the Peasant's care ? 
 Or the great labours of the Field degrade, 
 W^ith the new peril of a poorer trade ? 
 
 From this chief cause these idle praises spring, 
 That themes so easy, few forbear to sing ; 
 For no deep thought the trifling subjects ask, 
 To sing of Shepherds is an easy task ; 
 The happy youth assumes the common strain, 
 A Nymph his mistress and himself a Swain ; 
 With no sad scenes he clouds his tuneful prayer, 
 But all, to look like her, is painted fair.
 
 I grant indeed that Fields and Flocks have charms, 
 For him that gazes or for him that farms ; 
 But when amid such pleasing scenes I trace 
 The poor laborious natives of the place, 
 And see the mid-day sun, with fervid ray, 
 On their bare heads and dewy temples play ; 
 While some, with feebler heads and fainter hearts, 
 Deplore their fortune, yet sustain their parts ; 
 Then shall I dare these real ills to hide, 
 In tinsel trappings of poetic pride ? 
 
 No ; cast by Fortune on a frowning coast, 
 Which neither Groves nor happy Valleys boast ; 
 Where other cares than those the Muse relates, 
 And other Shepherds dwell with other mates ; 
 By sQch examples taught, I paint the Cot, 
 As Truth will paint it and as Bards will not : 
 For you, ye Poor, of letter'd scorn complain. 
 To you the smoothest song is smooth in vain ; 
 O'ercorae hy labour and bow'd down by time, 
 Feel you the barren flattery of a Rhyme ? 
 Can Poets sooth you, when you pine for bread, 
 By winding myrtles round your ruin'd shed ? 
 Can their light tales your weighty griefs o'erpower. 
 Or glad with airy mirth the toilsome hour ? 
 
 Lo ! where the heath, with withering brake grown o'er, 
 Lends the light turf that warms the neighbouring poor ;
 
 6 
 
 From thence a length of burning sand appears. 
 Where the thin harvest Avaves its withcr'd cars ; 
 Rank weeds, that every art and care def)', 
 Reign o'er the land and rob the blighted rye : 
 There Thistles stretch their prickly arras afar. 
 And to the ragged infant threaten war ; 
 There Poppies nodding, mock the hope of toil ; 
 There the blue Bugloss paints the sterile soil ; 
 Hardy and high, above the slender sheaf, 
 The slimy Mallow Avaves her silky leaf; 
 O'er tlie young shoot the Charlock throws a shade, 
 And clasping Tares cling round the sickly blade ; 
 
 With mingled tints the rocky coasts abound, 
 And a sad splendour vainly shines around. 
 
 So looks the Nymph whom wretched arts adorn, 
 
 Betray 'd by Man, then left for Man to scorn ; 
 
 Whose cheek in vain assumes the mimic rose, 
 
 While her sad eyes the troubled breast disclose ; 
 
 Whose outward splendour is but folly's dress, 
 
 Exposing most, when most it gilds distress. 
 Here joyless roam a wild amphibious race, 
 
 With sullen woe display'd in every face ; 
 
 Who, far from civil arts and social fly, 
 
 And scowl at strangers with suspicious eye. 
 Here too the lawless Merchant of the main 
 
 Draws from his plough th' intoxicated Swain j
 
 Want only claim 'd the labour of the day, 
 But vice now steals his nightly rest away. 
 
 Where are the Swains, who, daily labour done, 
 With rural games play'd down the setting sun ; 
 Who struck with matchless force the bounding ball, 
 Or made the pond'rous quoit obliquely fall ; 
 While some huge Ajax, terrible and strong, 
 Engag'd some artful stripling of the throng. 
 And fell beneath him, foil'd, while far around, 
 Hoarse triumph rose and rocks return'd the sound ? 
 Where now are these? — Beneath yon cliff they stand, 
 To show the freighted pinnace where to land ; 
 To load the ready steed with guilty haste, 
 To fly in terror o'er the pathless waste, 
 Or when detected, in their straggling course, 
 To foil their foes by cunning or by force ; 
 Or yielding part (which equal knaves demand) 
 To gain a lawless passport through the land. 
 
 Here wand'ring long, amid these frowning fields, 
 I sought the simple life that Nature yields ; 
 Rapine and Wrong and Fear usurp'd her place. 
 And a bold, artful, surly, savage race ; 
 Who, only skill'd to take tlie finny tribe, 
 The yearly dinner, or septennial bribe, 
 Wait on the shore, and as the waves run high, 
 On the tost vessel bend their eager eye ;
 
 8 
 
 Which to their coast directs its vent'rous way, 
 Their's, or the ocean's miserable prey. 
 
 As on their neighbouring beach yon swallows stand, 
 And wait for favouring winds to leave the land ; 
 While still for flight the ready wing is spread : 
 So waited I the favouring hour, and fled ; 
 Fled from these shores where guilt and famine reign^ 
 And cry'd, Ah ! hapless they who still remain ; 
 Who still remain to hear the ocean roar, 
 Whose greedy waves devour the lessening shore ; 
 Till some fierce tide, with more imperious sway, 
 Sweeps the low hut and all it holds away ; 
 When the sad tenant weeps from door to door. 
 And begs a poor protection from the poor ! 
 
 But these are scenes where Nature's niggard hand 
 Gave a spare portion to the famish 'd land ; 
 Her's is the fault, if here mankind complain 
 Of fruitless toil and labour spent in vain ; 
 But yet in other scenes more fair in view. 
 Where Plenty smiles — alas ! she smiles for few, 
 And those who taste not, yet behold her store. 
 Are as the slaves that dig the golden ore, 
 The wealth around them makes them doubly poor. 
 
 Or will you deem them amply paid in health, 
 Labour's fair child, that languishes with Wealth ?
 
 Go then ! and see them rising with the sun, 
 Through a long course of daily toil to run ; 
 See them beneath the Dog-star's raging heat, 
 When the knees tremble and the temples beat ; 
 Behold them, leaning on their scythes, look o'er 
 The labour past, and toils to come explore ; 
 See them alternate suns and showers engage, 
 And hoard up aches and anguish for their ag6 ; 
 Thro' fens and marshy moors their steps pursue, 
 When their warm pores imbibe the evening dew ; 
 Then own that labour may as fatal be 
 To these thy slaves, as thine excess to thee. 
 
 Amid this tribe too oft a manly pride 
 Strives in strong toil the fainting heart to hide ; 
 There may you see the youth of slender frame 
 Contend with weakness, weariness, and shame ; 
 Yet urg'd along, and proudly loth to yield, 
 He strives to join his fellows of the field ; 
 Till long-contending nature droops at last. 
 Declining health rejects his poor repast, 
 His cheerless Spouse the coming danger sees. 
 And mutual murmurs urge the slow disease. 
 
 Yet grant them health, 'tis not for us to tell. 
 Though the head droops not, that the heart is well ; 
 Or will you praise that homely, healthy fare. 
 Plenteous and plain, that happy Peasants share ?
 
 10 
 
 Oht trifle not ^vilb ^ants you cannot feel. 
 Nor mock the misery of a stinted meal: 
 Homely not wholesome, plain not plenteous, such 
 As you who praise would never deign to touch. 
 
 Ye gentle souls, who dream of Rural ease, 
 Whom the smooth Stream and smoother Sonnet please ; 
 Go I if the peaceful Cot your praises share. 
 Go look within, and ask if Peace be there ; 
 If Peace be his — that drooping weary Sire, 
 Or their's, that Offspring round their feeble fire ; 
 Or her's, that Matron pale, whose trembling hand 
 Turns on the wretched hearth th' expiring brand ! 
 
 Nor yet can Time itself obtain for these 
 Life's latest comforts, due respect and ease ; 
 For yonder see that hoary Swain, whose age, 
 Can w ith no cares except its own engage ; 
 Wlio, propt on that rude staff, looks up to see 
 The bare arms broken from the withering tree ; 
 On which, a boy, heclimb'd the loftiest bough, 
 Then his first joy, but his sad emblem now. 
 He once was chief in all the Rustic-trade, 
 His steady hand the straightest furrow made ; 
 Full many a prize he won, and still is proud 
 To find the triumphs of his youth allow'd ; 
 A transient pleasure sparkles in his eyes, 
 He hears and smiles, then thinks again and sighs :
 
 11 
 
 For now he journeys to his grave in pain ; 
 The rich disdain him ; nay, the poor disdain; 
 Alternate masters now their slave command, 
 Urge the weak efforts of his feeble hand, 
 And, when his age attempts its task in vain, 
 With ruthless taunts, of lazy poor complain*. 
 
 Oft may you see him when he tends the sheep, 
 His winter-charge, beneath the hillock weep ; 
 Oft hear him murmur to the winds that blow 
 O'er his white locks and bury them in snow ; 
 When rous'd by rage and muttering in the morn, 
 lie mends the broken hedge with icy thorn. 
 
 *' Why do I live, when I desire to be 
 " At once from life and life's long labour free ? 
 " Like leaves in spring, the young are blown away, 
 ** Without the sorrows of a slow decay ; 
 *' I, like yon wither'd leaf, remain behind, 
 " Nipt by tlie frost and shivering in the wind ; 
 " There it abides till younger buds come on, 
 ^* As I, now all my fellow swains are gone ; 
 " Then, from the rising generation thrust, 
 " It falls, like me, unnotic'd to the dust. 
 
 * A pauper who, being nearly past his labour, is employed by 
 different masters, for a length of time proportioned to their oc- 
 cupations ,
 
 12 
 
 " These fruitful Fields, these numerous Flocks I sc?, 
 " Are oliiers' gain, but killing cares to me ; 
 " To me the children of my youth are lords, 
 " Cool in their looks, but hasty in their words : 
 " Wants of their own demand their care ; and who 
 " Feels his own want and succours others too ? 
 *' A lonely, wretched man, in pain I go, 
 *' None need ray help and none relieve my woe ; 
 *' Then let my bones beneath tlie turf be laid, 
 '* And men forget the wretch they would not aid.'* 
 
 Thus groan the Old, till, by disease opprest, 
 They taste a final woe^ and then they rest. 
 
 Their's is yon House that holds the Parish Poor, 
 Whose walls of mud scarce bear the broken door ; 
 
 There, where the putrid vapours flagging, play, 
 
 And the dvAl wheel hums doleful through the day ; — 
 
 There Children dwell who know no Parents* care ; 
 
 Parents, who know no Children's love, dwell there; 
 
 Heart-ljroken Matrons on their joyless bed, 
 
 Forsaken Wives and Motliers never wed ; 
 
 Dejected Widows with unheeded tears, 
 
 And crippled Age with more than child liood-fears ; 
 
 The Lame, the Blind, and, far the happiest they ! 
 
 Tlie moping Idiot and the Madman gay. 
 Here too the Sick their final doom receive, 
 
 Here brought amid the scenes of grief, to grieve.
 
 13 
 
 Where the loud groans from some sad chamber flow, 
 Mixt with the clamours of the crowd below ; 
 Here sorrowing, they each kindred sorrow scan, 
 And the cold charities of man to man : 
 Whose laws indeed for ruin'd Age provide, 
 And strong compulsion plucks the scrap from pride; 
 But still that scrap is bought with many a sigh, 
 And pride imbitters what it can't deny. 
 
 Say ye, opprest by some fantastic woes, 
 Some jarring nerve that baffles your repose ; 
 Who press the downy couch, while slaves advance 
 With timid eye, to read the distant glance; 
 Who with sad prayers the weary Doctor tease, 
 To name the nameless ever-new disease ; 
 Who with mock patience dire complaints endure, 
 Which real pain and that alone can cure ; 
 How would ye bear in real pain to lie, 
 Despis'd, neglected, left alone to die? 
 How would ye bear to draw your latest breath, 
 Where all that's wretched pave the way for death ? 
 
 Such is that room wliich one rude beam divides, 
 And naked rafters from the sloping sides ; 
 Where the vile bands that bind the thatch are seen, 
 And lath and mud are all that lie between ; 
 Save one dull pane, that, coarsely patch'd, gives way 
 To the rude tem[>cst, yd excludes the day ;
 
 14 
 
 Here, on a matted flock, with dust o'erspread, 
 The droopirj^ wretch reclines his languid head ; 
 For him no hand the cordial cup applies, 
 Or wipes the tear that stagnates in his eyes ; 
 No friends with soft discourse his pain beguile, 
 Or promise hope till sickness wears a smile. 
 
 But soon a loud and hasty summpiis calls, 
 Shakes the thin roof, and echoes round the walls : 
 Anon, a Figure enters, quaintly neat, 
 All pride and business, bustle and conceit ; 
 With looks unaUer'd by these scenes of woe, 
 With speed that, entering, speaks his haste to go 
 He bids the gazing throng around him fly, 
 And carries Fate and Physic in his eye; 
 A potent Quack, long vers'd in human ills, 
 Who first insults the victim whom he kills ; 
 Whose murd'rous hand a drowsy Bench protect. 
 And whose most tender mercy is neglect. 
 
 Paid by the Parisli for attendance here, 
 He wears contempt upon his sapient sneer ; 
 In haste he seeks the bed where Misery lies, 
 Impatience mark'd in his averted eyes ; 
 And, some habitual queries hurried o'er, 
 Without reply, he rushes on the door ; 
 His drooping Patient, long inur'd to pain, 
 And long unheeded, knows remonstrance vain ;
 
 15 
 
 He ceases now the feeble help to crave 
 Of Man ; and silent sinks into the grave. 
 
 But ere his death some pious doubts arise, 
 Some simple fears which " bold bad" men despise : 
 Fain would he ask the Parish Priest to prove 
 His title certain to the Joys above ; 
 For this he sends the murmuring Nurse, who calls 
 The holy Stranger to these dismal walls ; 
 And doth not he, the pious man, appear, 
 He, " passing rich with forty pounds a year?" 
 Ah ! no, a Shepherd of a different stock, 
 And far unlike him, feeds this little Flock ; 
 A. jovial youth, who thinks his Sunday's task, 
 As much as God or Man can fairly ask ; 
 The rest he gives to Loves and Labours light, 
 To Fields the morning and to Feasts the night ; 
 None better skill'd the noisy Pack to guide, 
 To urge their chace, to cheer them or to chide ; 
 A Sportsman keen, he shoots through half the day^ 
 And skill'd at Whist, devotes the night to play ; 
 Then, while such honours bloom around his head. 
 Shall he sit sadly by the Sick Man's bed, 
 To raise the hope he feels not, or with zeal 
 To combat fears that ev'n the pious feel ?
 
 16 
 
 Now once again the gloomy scene explore, 
 Less gloomy now ; the bitter hour is o'er, 
 The Man of many Sorrows sighs ao more. — 
 Up yonder hill, behold how sadly slow 
 The Bier moves winding from the vale below ; 
 There lie the happy Dead from trouble free, 
 And the glad Parish pays the frugal fee : 
 IVo more, O Death ! thy victim starts to hear 
 Churchwarden stern, or kingly Overseer ; 
 No more the Farmer claims his humble bow. 
 Thou art his lord, the best of tyrants thou ! 
 
 Now to the Church behold the Mourners come. 
 Sedately torpid and devoutly dumb ; 
 The Village Children now their games suspend, 
 To see the Bier that bears their ancient Friend ; 
 For he was one in all their idle sport. 
 And like a Monarch rul'd their little Court ; 
 The pliant Bow he form'd, the flying Ball, 
 The Bat, the Wicket, were his labours all ; 
 Him now they follow to his grave, and stand 
 Silent and sad, and gazing, hand in hand; 
 While bending low, their eager eyes explore 
 The mingled relicks of the Parish Poor: 
 The bell tolls late, the moping owl flies round. 
 Fear marks the flight and magnifies the sound;
 
 17 
 
 The busy Priest, detained by weightier care^ 
 Defers bis duty till the day of prayer ; 
 And waiting long, the crowd retire distrest, 
 To think a Poor Man's bones should lie unblest*. 
 
 •* Some apology is due for the insertion of a circumstance by 
 no means common: That it has been a subject for complaint in 
 any place, is a sufficient reason for its being reckoned among the 
 evils which may happen to the Poor, and which must happen to 
 them exclusively ; nevertheless, it is just to remark, that such 
 neglect is very rare in any part of the kingdom, and in many 
 parts is totally unknown.
 
 BOOK 11. 
 
 e ^
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 There are found amid the Evils of a Laborious Life, some Views 
 of Tranquillity and Happiness. — The Eepose and Pleasure of 
 a Summer Sabbath : interrupted by Intoxication and Dispute. 
 — Village Detraction. — Complaints of the Squire. — The 
 Evening Riots. — Justice. — Reasons for this unpleasant View 
 of Rustic Life : the Effect it should have upon the Lower Clas- 
 ses; and the Higher. — These last have their peculiar Dis- 
 tresses: Exemplified in the Life and heroic Death of Lord 
 Robert Manners.— Concluding Address to his Grace the Duke 
 of Rutland.
 
 THE 
 
 VILLAGE. 
 
 BOOK IL 
 
 JNl O longer Truth, though shewn in Verse, disdain. 
 
 But own the Village Life a life of pain ; 
 
 I too must yield, that oft amid these woes 
 
 Are gleams of transient Mirth and hours of sweet Repose, 
 
 Such as you find on yonder sportive Green, 
 
 The 'Squire's tall gate and Churchway-walk between ; 
 
 Where loitering stray a little tribe of friends, 
 
 On a fair Sunday when the Sermon ends : 
 
 Then Rural Beaux their best attire put on, 
 
 To win their Nymphs, as other Nymphs are won ; 
 
 While those long wed go plain, and by degrees. 
 
 Like other Husbands quit their care to please.
 
 22 
 
 Some of the Sermon talk, a sober crowd, 
 And loudly praise, if it were preach 'd aloud ; 
 S»me on the Labours of tlic Week look round, 
 Feel their own worth, and think tlicir toil rcnown'd ; 
 While some, Avhose hopes to no renown extend, 
 Are only pleas'd to find their Labours end. 
 
 Thus, as their hours glide on with pleasure fraught, 
 Their careful Masters brood the painful thouglit ; 
 Much in their mind they murmur and lament. 
 That one fair day should be so idly spent ; 
 And think that Heaven deals hard, to tithe their store 
 And tax their Time for Preachers and the Poor. 
 
 Yet still, yc humbler friends, enjoy your Hour, 
 This is your Portion, yet unclaim'd of Power ; 
 This is Heaven's gift to weary men opprest, 
 And seems the type of their expected Rest : 
 But yours, alas ! are joys that soon decay ; 
 Frail joys, begun and ended with the Day ; 
 Or yet, while day permits those joys to reign, 
 The Village vices drive them from the plain. 
 
 See the stout Churl, in drunken fury great, 
 Strike the bare bosom of his teeming male! 
 His naked vices, rude and unrefin'd. 
 Exert their open empire o'er the mind ; 
 But can we less the senseless rage despise, 
 Because the savage acts without disguise ?
 
 Yet here Disguise, the City's vice, is seen, 
 And Slander steals along and taints the Green. 
 At her approach domestic Peace is gone, 
 Domestic Broils at her approach come on ; 
 She to the Wife the Husband's crime conveys, 
 She tells the Husband when his Consort strays; 
 Her busy tongue, through all the little state, 
 Diffuses doubt, suspicion, and debate; 
 Peace, tim'rous Goddess ! quits her old domain, 
 In Sentiment and Song content to reign. 
 
 Nor are the Nymphs that breathe the Rural air 
 So fair as Cynthia's, nor so chaste as fair ; 
 These to the Town afford each fresher face, 
 And the Clown's trull receives the Peer's embrace ; 
 From whom, should chance again convey her down, 
 The Peer's disease in turn attacks the Clown. 
 
 Here too the 'Squire, or 'squire-like Farmer, talk, 
 How round their regions nightly pilferers walk ; 
 How from their ponds the fish are borne, and all 
 The rip'ning treasures from their lofty wall ; 
 How meaner rivals in their sports delight, 
 Just rich enough to claim a doubtful right ; 
 Who take a licence round their fields to stray, 
 A mongrel race ! the Poachers of the day. 
 
 And hark ! the riots of the Green begin, 
 That sprang at first from yonder npisy Inn ;
 
 u 
 
 What time the weekly pay was vanish'd all, 
 And the slow Hostess scored the threat'ning wall ; 
 What time they ask*d, their friendly feast to cIose» 
 A final cup, and that will make them foes ; 
 When blows ensue that break the arm of Toil, 
 And rustic battle ends the boobies* broil. 
 
 Save when to yonder Hall they bend tiieir way ; 
 Where the grave Justice ends the grievous fray ; 
 He who recites, to keep the Poor in awe, 
 The Law's vast volume — for he knows the Law. — 
 To hira with anger or with shame repair 
 The injur'd Peasant and deluded Fair. 
 
 Lo ! at his throne the silent Nymph appears, 
 Frail by her shape, but modest in her tears ; 
 And while she stands abash'd, with conscious eye, 
 Some favourite Female of her Judge glides by : 
 Who views with scornful glance the strumpet's fate, 
 And thanks the stars that made her Keeper great: 
 Near her the Swain, about to bear for life 
 One certain evil, doubts 'twixt War and Wife; 
 But, while the faultering Damsel takes her oath, 
 Consents to wed, and so secures them both. 
 
 Yet why, you ask, these humble crimes relate, 
 
 Why make the Poor as guilty as the Great ? 
 
 To shew the Great, those mightier sons of Pride,. 
 
 How near in vice the lowest are allied; 
 
 I
 
 25 
 
 Such are their natures and their passions such, 
 
 But these disguise too little, those too much ; 
 
 So shall the man of Power and Pleasure see 
 
 In his own Slave as vile a wretch as he; 
 
 In his luxurious Lord the Servant find 
 
 His own low pleasures and degenerate mind : 
 
 And each in all the kindred vices trace. 
 
 Of a poor, blind, bewilder'd, erring Race ; 
 
 Who, a short time in varied fortune past. 
 
 Die, and are equal in the dust at last. 
 And you, ye Poor, who still lament your fate. 
 Forbear to envy those you call the Great ; 
 And know, amid those blessings they possess. 
 They are, like you, the victims of distress ; 
 While Sloth with manj a pang torments her slave. 
 Fear waits on Guilt, and Danger shakes the brave. 
 
 Oh ! if in life one noble Chief appears, 
 Great in his name, while blooming in his years ; 
 Born to enjoy whate'er delights Mankind, 
 And yet to all you feel or fear resign'd ; 
 Who gave up joys and hopes to you unknown^ 
 For pains and dangers greater than your own; 
 If such there be, then let your murmurs cease, 
 Think, think of him, and take your lot in peace. 
 
 And such there was :— Oh ! gtief, that checks our pridr., 
 Weeping we say there was, — for Mannkks died ;
 
 26 
 
 JBelov'd of Heav'n, these bumble lines forgive, 
 
 That sing of Thee*, and thus aspire to live. 
 
 As the tall Oak, whose vigorous branches form 
 
 An ample shade and brave the wildest storm, 
 
 Higli o'er the subject Wood is seen to grow, 
 
 The guard and glory of the Trees below ; 
 
 Till on its head the fiery bolt descends, 
 
 And o'er the plain the shattered trupk extends ; 
 
 Yet then it lies, all wond'rous as before, 
 
 And still the Glory, though the Guard no more. 
 
 So THOU, when every virtue, every grace, 
 Rose in thy soul, or shone within thy face ; 
 When, though the Son of Granby, Thou wert known 
 Less by thy Father's glory than thy own ; 
 When Honour lov'd and gave Thee every charm, 
 Fire to thy eye and vigour to thy arm ; 
 
 * Lord Robert Manners, the youngest son oftlie Marquis 
 of Granby and the Lady Frances Seymour, daughter of Charles 
 Duke of Somerset, was born the 5th of February, 1758 ; and 
 was placed with his brother, the late Duke of Rutland, at Eton- 
 School, where he acquired, and ever after vetauied, a consider- 
 able knowledge of the classical authors. 
 
 Lord Robert, after going through the duties of his profes- 
 sion on-board different ships, was made ('ajitain of the Resolu- 
 tion, and commanded her in nine different actions, besides 
 that last memorable one on the 2d of April, 1 782, when, in 
 breaking the IVench Line of Battle, he received the wounds 
 which terminated his life, in the 24th year of his age. 
 
 See the Annncd Hegister, printed for Mr. Dodsky.
 
 27 
 
 Then from our lofty hopes and longing eye??, 
 Fate and thy Virtues call'd Thee to the Skies ; 
 Yet still we wonder at thy tow' ring fame, 
 And losing Thee, still dwell upon thy Name. 
 
 Oh ! ever honoured, ever valued ! say, 
 What Verse can praise Thee, or what Work repay ? 
 Yet Verse (in all we can) thy worth repays, 
 Nor trusts the tardy zeal of future days ; — 
 Honours for Thee thy Country shall prepare, 
 Thee in their hearts, the Good, the Brave shall bear ; 
 To deeds like thine shall noblest Chiefs aspire, 
 The Muse shall mourn Thee, and the World admire. 
 
 In future times, when smit with Glory's charms. 
 The untry'd youth first quits a Father's arms ; — 
 " Oh ! be like him," the weeping Sire shall say ; 
 ^' Like Manners walk, who walk'd in Honour's way 
 " In Danger foremost, yet in Death sedate, 
 " Oh ! be like Him in all things, but his fate !" 
 
 If for that Fate such public Tears be shed, 
 That Victory seems to die now thou art dead ; 
 How shall a Friend his nearer hope resign, 
 TJiat Friend a Brother, and wliose soul was thine ; 
 By what bold lines shall we his grief express, 
 Or by what soothing numbers ma'ke it less ? 
 
 *Tis not, I know, the chiming of a song, 
 Nor all the powers that to the Muse belong;^
 
 28 
 
 Words aptly cull'd and Meanings well exprcst, 
 
 Can calm the sorrows of a wounded breast ; 
 
 But Virtue, soother of the fiercest pains, 
 
 Shall heal that bosom, Rutlani), where she reigns. 
 
 Yet hard the task to heal the bleeding heart, 
 To bid the still-recurring thoughts depart ; 
 Tame the fierce grief and stem the rising sigh, 
 And curb rebellious passion, with reply ; — 
 Calmly to dwell on all that pleas'd before, 
 And yet to know that all shall please no more ; — 
 Oh ! glorious labour of the soul to save 
 Her captive powers, and bravely mourn the Brave. 
 
 To suchj these thoughts will lasting comfort give- 
 Life is not measur'd by the time we live ; 
 'Tis not an even course of threescore 3'ears, 
 A life of narrow views and paltry fears, 
 Grey-hairs and wrinkles and the cares they bring. 
 That take from Death, the terrors or the sting ; 
 But 'tis the gen'rous Spirit, mounting high 
 Above the world, that native of the Sky j 
 The noble Spirit, that, in dangers brave, 
 Calmly looks on, or looks beyond the grave : — 
 Such Manners was, so he resign'd his breath, 
 If in a glorious, then a timely death. 
 
 Cease then that grief and let those tears subside i 
 If Passion rule us, be that passion Pride j
 
 29 
 
 Jf Reason, Reason bids us strive to raise 
 Our fallen hearts and be like Him we praise ! 
 Or if Affection still the soul subdue, 
 Bring all his virtues, all his worth in view, 
 And let Affection find its comfort too : 
 For how can Grief so deeply wound the heart, 
 When Admiration claims so large a part ? 
 Grief is a foe, expel him then thy soul. 
 Let nobler thoughts the nearer views controul ! 
 Oh ! make the Age to come thy better care, 
 See other Rutlands, other Granbys there ! 
 And as thy thoughts through streaming ages glifle^ 
 See other Heroes die as Manners died : 
 And from their fate, thy Race shall nobler grow, 
 As trees shoot upwards that are prun'd below ; 
 Or as Old Thames borne down with decent pride. 
 Sees his young Streams run warbling at his side ; 
 Though some, by art cut off, no longer run, 
 And some are lost beneath the Summer's Sun- 
 Yet the pure Stream moves on, and as it moves. 
 Its power increases and its use improves ; 
 While Plenty round its spacious waves bestoWj 
 Still it flows on, and shall for ever flow.
 
 THE 
 
 PARISH REGISTER: 
 
 IN THREE PARTS. 
 PART I.
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 The Village "Register considered, as containing principally the 
 Annals of the Poor. — State of the Peasantry as meliorated 
 by Frugality and Industry. — The Cottage of an industrious 
 Peasant; its Ornaments. — Prints and Books.— The Garden; 
 its Satisfactions. — The state of the Poor when improvident and 
 vicious. — The Row or Street, and its Inhabitants. — The Dwell- 
 ing of One of these. — A Public-House.— Garden and its Ap- 
 pendages. — Gamesters ; rustic Sharpers, &c. — Conclusion of 
 the Introductory Part.
 
 THE 
 
 PARISH REGISTER. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 The Childofthe Miller's Daughter, and relation qfher Misfortune.— - 
 A frugal Couple : their kind of Frugality. — Plea of the Mother 
 of a natural Child: her Churching. — Large Family of Gerard 
 Abktt : his Apprehensionsi : Comparison between his State and 
 that of the wealthy Farmer his Master: his Consolation. — An 
 Old Man's Anxiety for an Heir : the Jealousy of another on ha- 
 ving many.— ^Characters of the Grocer Dawkins and his Friend: 
 their different kinds of Disappointment.'^Three Infants named. 
 — An Otphan Girl and Fillage School-mistress. — Gardener*s 
 Child : Pedantry and Conceit of the Father : his Botanical Dis- 
 course : Method of fixing the Embryo-fruit of Cucumbers. — 
 Absurd effects of Rustic Fanity: observed in the Names of
 
 34^ 
 
 their Children.— Relation of the J'eatry Debate on a Foundling: 
 Sir Richard Mondai/- — Children of various Inhabitants. — The. 
 poor Farmer. — Children of a Projligate : his Character and 
 Fate. — Conclusion , 
 
 Turn porro puer (ut saevis projectus ab undis, 
 Navita) nudus buini jacet infans indigus omni 
 
 Vitali auxilio, 
 
 Vagituque locum lugubri complet, ut aequura est, 
 Cui tantum in vita restat transire inalorum. 
 
 Lucret. de Nat. Rerum, lib. 5. 
 
 1 HE Year revolves, and I again explore 
 
 The simple Annals of my Parish-poor ; 
 
 What Infant-members in my flock appear, 
 
 What Pairs I blest in the departed year ; 
 
 And who, of Old or Young, or Nymphs or Swains, 
 
 Are lost to Life, its Pleasures and its pains. 
 
 No Muse I ask, before my view to bring 
 The humble actions of the Swains I sing. — 
 How pass'd the Youthful, how the Old their days, 
 Who sank in sloth and who aspir'd to praise ; 
 Their Tempers, Manners, Morals, Customs, Arts, 
 What parts they had, andhow they 'employed their parts; 
 By what elated, sooth'd, seduc'd, deprcst, 
 Full well I know— these Records give the rest. 
 
 Is there a place, save one the Poet sees, 
 k Land of Love, of Liberty and Ease;
 
 35 
 
 Where labour wearies not «or cares suppress 
 
 Th' eternal flow of Rustic Happiness ; 
 
 Where no proud Mansion frowns in aweful State^ 
 
 Or keeps the Sunshine from the Cottage-gate ; 
 
 Where Young and Old, intent on pleasure throng. 
 
 And half man's life, is Holiday and Song? 
 
 Vain search for scenes like these ! no view appears, 
 
 By sighs unruffled or unstain'd by tears ; 
 
 Since Vice the world subdued and Waters drown'd, 
 
 Auburn and Eden can no more be found. 
 
 Hence good and evil mix'd, but Man has skill 
 And power to part them, when he feels the will ; 
 Toil, care, and patience bless th' abstemious few, 
 Fear, shame, and want the thoughtless herd pursue. 
 
 Behold the Cot ! where thrives th' industrious Swain, 
 Source of his pride, his pleasure and his gain ; 
 Screen'd from the Winter's wind, the Sun's last ray 
 Smiles on the window and prolongs the day ; 
 Projecting thatch the woodbine's branches stop, 
 And turn their blossoms to the casement's top : — 
 All need requires is in that Cot contain'd. 
 And much that taste untaught and unrestrain'd 
 Surveys delighted ; there she loves to trace, 
 In one gay picture all the Royal Race; 
 Around the walls are Heroes, Lovers, Kings ; 
 The print that shews them and the verse that sings-
 
 35 
 
 Here the la^t Lcicis on his throne is seen, 
 And there he stands iniprisnn'd and his Queen ; 
 To these the Molhcr takes licr Chihl and showf 
 What grateful Duty to his God lio owes ; 
 Who gives to him, an happy Home and free, 
 W^ith life's ennobling comfort, Liberty ; 
 When Kings and Queens, dethron'd, insulted, tried. 
 Are all these Comforts of the Poor denied. 
 
 There is King Charles, and all his Goklen Rules, 
 Who prov'd Misfortune's was the best of schools ; 
 And there his Son, ^vho, tried by years of pain, 
 Prov'd that misfortunes may be sent in vain. 
 
 The Magic-mill that grinds the gran'nams young* 
 Close at the side of kind Godiva hung ; 
 She, of her favourite place the pride and joy, 
 Of charms at once most lavish and most coy ; 
 By Tv?ntoii act, the purest fame could raise, 
 And give the boldest deed, the chastest praise. 
 
 There stands the stoutest Ox in England fed; 
 There fights the boldest Jew, Whitechapel-bred ; 
 And here Saint Monday^% worthy votaries live, 
 In all the joys that Ale and Skittles give. 
 
 Now lo ! in Egypt's coast that hostile Fleet, 
 By nations dreaded and by Nelson beat ; 
 And here shall soon another Triumph come, 
 A deed of Glory in a day of Gloom ;
 
 37 
 
 Distrcssinij glory ! grievous boon of fate ! 
 The proudest Conquest, at the dearest rate. 
 On slielf of deal beside the cuckoo-clock, 
 Of Cottage-readinn; rests the chosen stock ; 
 Learning we lack, not Books, but have a kind 
 For all our wants, a meat for every mind : 
 The Tale for wonder and the Joke for whim, 
 The half-si^ng Sermon and the half-groan'd Hymn. 
 
 No need of classing ; each within its place, 
 The feeling finger in the dark can trace ; 
 '^ First from the corner, farthest from the wall," 
 Such all the rules and they suffice for all. 
 
 There pious works for Sunday's use are found, 
 Companions for that Bible newly bound ; 
 That Bible, bought by sixpence weekly sav'd, 
 Has choicest prints by famous Hands engrav'd ; 
 Has choicest notes by many a famous Head, 
 Such as to doubt, have rustic readers led ; 
 Have made them stop to reason why ? and how ? 
 And where they once ageed, to cavil now. 
 
 Oh ! rather give me Commentators plain. 
 Who with no deep researches vex the brain ; 
 Who from the dark and doubtful love to run, 
 And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun ; 
 Who simple Truth with nine-fold reasons back. 
 And guard the point, no enemies attack.
 
 38 
 
 Bimy art's fara'd Pilgrim rests that shelf upon, 
 A genius rare but rude was honest John ; 
 Not one who, early by the Muse beguil'd, 
 Drank from her well, the waters undetird ; 
 Not one who slowly gain'd the Hill sublime, 
 Then often sipp'd and little at a time ; 
 But one who dabbled in the sacred Springs, 
 And drank them muddy, mix'd with baser things. 
 
 Here to interpret Dreams we read the rules, 
 Science our own ! and never taught in schools ; 
 In Moles and Specks we Fortune's gifts discern. 
 And Fate's fix'dwill from Nature's wanderings learn. 
 
 Of Hermit Quarle we read in island rare. 
 Far from Mankind and seeming far from Care ; 
 Safe from all want and sound in every limb ; 
 Yes ! there was he and there was Care with him. 
 
 Unbound anrl heap'd these valued Avorks beside, 
 Laid humbler works, the pedler's pack supplied ; 
 Yet these, long since, have all acquir'd a name; 
 The Wandering Jezv has found his way to fame : 
 And fame, denied to many a labour'd song, 
 Crowns Thumb the great and Hicherthrift the strong. 
 
 There too is he, by wizard-power upheld, 
 Jackf by whose arm the giant-brood were quell'd j 
 His shoes of swiftness on his feet he plac'd ; 
 His coat of darkness on his loins he brac'd j
 
 39 
 
 Ills sword of .sliarpii;;ss in his hand lie took, 
 And off the heads of doughty Giants stroke ; 
 Their glaring eyes beheld no mortal near ; 
 No sound of ket alann'd the drowsy ear ; 
 No English blood their pagan sense could smell. 
 But heads dropt headlong, wondering why they fell. 
 These are the Peasant's joy, when, plac'd at ease. 
 Half his delighted Offspring mount his knees. 
 
 To every Cot the Lord's indulgent mind, 
 Has a small space for Garden-ground assign'd ; 
 Here — till return of morn dismiss'd the farm — 
 The careful Peasant plies the sinewy arm, 
 Warm'd as he works and casts his look around 
 On every foot of that improving ground : 
 It is his own he sees ; his Master's eye. 
 Peers not about, some secret fault to spy ; 
 Nor voice severe is there, nor censure known ; — 
 Hope, profit, pleasure, — they are all his own. 
 
 Here grow the humble Cives and hard by them. 
 The tall Leek^ tapering with his rushy stem ; 
 High climb his Pulse in many an even row, 
 Deep strike the ponderous roots in soil below, 
 And herbs of potent smell and pungent taste, 
 Give a warm relish to the Night's repast. 
 Apples and Cherries grafted by his hand, 
 And cluster'd Nuts for neighbouring market stand.
 
 40 
 
 Nor thus concludes liis luboiir ; near the Col, 
 The Reed-fence rises round some favourite spot ; 
 Where rich Carnations, Pinks with purple eyes, ■^ 
 
 Proud Hyacinths, the least some Florist's prize, V 
 
 Tulips tall-stemm'd and pounc'd Auricula's rise. j 
 
 Here on a Sunday-eve, when Service ends, 
 Meet and rejoice a Family of Friends ; 
 All speak aloud, are happy and are free. 
 And glad they seem and gaily they agree. 
 
 What, though fastidious ears may shun the speech, 
 Where all are talkers and where none can teach ; 
 Where still the Welcome and the Words are old, 
 And the same Stories are for ever told ; 
 Yet their's is joy that bursting from the heart. 
 Prompts the glad tongue these nothings to impart ; 
 That forms these tones of gladness we despise, 
 That lifts their steps, that sparkles in their eyes ; 
 That talks or laughs or runs or shouts or plays, 
 And speaks in all their looks and all their ways. 
 
 Fair scenes of peace ! ye might detain us long, 
 But Vice and Misery now demand the song ; 
 And turn our view from Dwellings simply neat, 
 To this infected Row, we term our Street. 
 
 Here, in cabal, a disputatious crew 
 Each evening meet ; the Sot, the Cheat, the Shrew ;
 
 41 
 
 Riots are nightly heard ; — the curse, the cries 
 
 Of beaten Wife, perverse in her replies ; 
 
 While shriekinij Children hold each threat'iiini^- hand. 
 
 And sometimes life, and sometimes food demand; 
 
 Bojs in their first stol'n rags, to swear begin, 
 
 And girls, who heed not dress, are skill'd in gin : 
 
 Snarers and Smugglers here their gains divide. 
 
 Ensnaring females here their victims hide; 
 
 And here is one, the Sybil of the Row, 
 
 Who knows all secrets, or affects to know. 
 
 Seeking their fate, to her the simple run, 
 
 To her the guilty, theirs awhile to shun : 
 
 Mistress of worthless arts, deprav'd in will, 
 
 Her care unblest and unrepaid her skill, 
 
 Slave to the tribe, to whose command she stoops, 
 
 And poorer than the poorest maid she dupes. 
 
 Between the road-way and the Avails, ofi'cnce 
 Invades all eyes and strikes on every sense ; 
 There lie, obscene, at every open door, 
 Heaps from the hearth and sweepings from the floor ; 
 And day by day the mingled masses grow. 
 As sinks are disembogu'd and kennels flow. 
 
 There hungry dogs from hungry children steal, 
 There pigs and chickens quarrel for a meal ; 
 There dropsied infants wail without redress, 
 And all is want and woe and wretchedness :
 
 42 
 
 Yet should these boys, with bodies bronz'd and bare, 
 Hi^h-swoln and hard, outlive that lack of care — 
 Forc'd on some farm, the unexerted strength. 
 Though loth to action, is compell'd at length, 
 When warm'd by health, as serpents in the spring, 
 Aside their slough of indolence ihey fling. 
 
 Yet ere they go, a greater evil comes — 
 See! crowded beds in those contiguous rooms ; 
 Beds but ill parted, by a paltry screen. 
 Of papcr'd lath or curtain dropt between ; 
 Daughters and Sons to j'on compartments creep. 
 And Pai^nts here beside their Children sleep : 
 Ye who have power, these thoughtless people part. 
 Nor let the Ear be first to taint the Heart. , 
 
 Come ! search within, nor sight nor smell regard; 
 The true Physician walks tlie foulest ward. 
 See ! on the floor, Avhat frowzy patches rest 1 
 What nauseous fragments on yon fractur'd chest ! 
 What downy-dust beneath yon window-seat ! 
 And round these posts that serve this bed for feet ; 
 This bed where all those tatter'd garments lie. 
 Worn by each sex, and now perforce thrown by! 
 
 See! as we gaze, an Infant lifts its head, 
 Left by neglect and burrow 'd in that bed ; 
 The Mother-gossip has the love supprest, 
 An Infant's cry once waken'd in her breast ;
 
 43 
 
 And daily prattles, as her round she takes, 
 (With strong resentment) of the want she makes. 
 
 Whence all these woes? — From want of virtuous will, 
 Of honest shame, of time-improving skill ; 
 From want of care t' employ the vacant hour, 
 And want of ev'ry kind but want of power. 
 
 Here are no Wheels for either Wool or Flax, 
 But packs of Cards — made up of sundry packs ; 
 Here is no Clock, nor will they turn the Glass, 
 And see how swift th' important moments pass; 
 Here are no Books, but ballads on the wall. 
 Are some abusive, and indecent all ; 
 Pist< is are here, unpair'd ; with Nets and Hooks, 
 Of every kind, for rivers, ponds, and brooks; 
 An ample flask that nightly rovers fill, 
 With recent poison from the Dutchman's still ; 
 A Box of Tools with wires of various size, 1 
 
 Frocks, Wigs, and Hats, for night or day disguise, ^ 
 And Bludgeons stout to gain or guard a prize. J 
 
 To every House belongs a space of Ground, 
 Of equal size, once fenc'd with Paling round ; 
 That Paling now by slothful waste destroy'd, 
 Dead Gorse and stumps of Elder fill the void ; 
 Save in the centre-spot, whose walls of clay, 
 Hide Sots and Striplings at their drink and play;
 
 Within, aboard, beneath a iWW ictrcat, 
 
 Allures the bubble and maintains the cheat ; 
 
 Where heavy Ale in spots like varnish sh(nvs, 
 
 Where chalky tallies yet remain in rows ; 
 
 Black Pipes and broken Jugs (he seats defik', 
 
 The walls and windows, Rhymes and lleck'iiings vile ; 
 
 Prints of the meanest kind disgrace the door, 
 
 And cards in curscS torn, lie fragments on the floor. 
 
 Here his poor Bird th' inhuman Cocker brings. 
 Arms his hard heel and clips his golden wings ; 
 With spicy food th' impatient spirit feeds, 
 And shouts and curses as the battle bleeds ; 
 Struck through the brain, depriv'd of both his eyes. 
 The vanquish'd bird must combat till he dies ; 
 Must faintly peck at his victorious foe. 
 And reel and stagger at each feeble blow ; 
 When fall'n, the savage grasps his dabbled plumes, 
 His blood-stain'd arms, for other deaths assumes; 
 And damns the craven-fowl, that lost his stake, 
 And only bled and perish'd for his sake. 
 
 Such are our Peasants, those to whom we yield 
 Glories unsought, the Fathers of the Field ; 
 And these who take from our reluctant hands, 
 What Burn advises or the Bench commands. 
 
 Our Farmers round, well pleas'd with constant gain, 
 Like other farmers, flourish and complain. —
 
 45 
 
 These are our Groups ; our Portraits next appear. 
 And close our Exhibition for the Year. 
 
 With evil omen, we that Year begin : 
 A Child of Shame, — stern Justice adds, of Sin, 
 Is first recorded ; — I would hide the deed, 
 But vain the wish ; I sigh and 1 proceed : 
 And could I well th' instructive truth convey, 
 'Twould warn the Giddy and awake the Gay. 
 
 Of all the Nymphs, who gave our Village grace, 
 The Millers, Daughter had the fairest Face ; 
 Proud was the Miller ; Money was his pride, 
 lie rode to Market, as our Farmers ride, 
 And 'twas his boast, inspir'd by spirits, there, 
 His favourite Luci/ should be rich as fair ; 
 But she must meek and still obedient prove. 
 And not presume, without his leave, to love. 
 
 A youthful Sailor heard him ; — *' Ha!" quoth he, 
 "This Miller''^ Maiden is a prize for me ; 
 " Her Charms Hove, bis Riches I desire, 
 " And all his threats but fan the kindling fire ; 
 " My ebbing purse, no more the Foe sliall fill, 
 " But Love's kind act and Luci/ at the Mill." 
 
 Thus thought the Youth, and soon the chace began. 
 Stretch'd alUbis sail, nor thought of pavise or plan :
 
 46 
 
 * 
 
 His trusty staff, in his bold hand, he took. 
 Like liim and like his Frigate, Heart of Oak; 
 Fresh were his features, his attire was new ; 
 Clean was his linen and his jacket blue ; 
 Of finest jefl/i his trowsers tight and trim, 
 Brush'd the large buckle at the silver rim. 
 
 He soon arriv'd, he trac'd the Village-green, 
 There saw the Maid, and was with pleasure seen ; 
 Then talked of Love, till Luci/^s yielding heart 
 Confess'd 'twas painful, though 'twas right to part. 
 
 " For ah I my Father has an haughty soul, 
 *' Whom best he loves, he loves but to controul ; 
 " Me to some churl in bargain he'll consign, 
 " And make some tyrant of the Parish, mine ; 
 " Cold is his heart, and he with looks severe, 
 ** Has often forc'd, but never shed the tear ; 
 ''■^ Save when my Mother died, some drops express'd 
 " A kind of sorrow for a Wife at rest : — 
 ** To me a Master's stern regard is shown, 
 " I'm like his steed, priz'd highly as his own; 
 " Stroak'd but corrected, threaten'd when supplied, 
 " His slave and boast, his victim and his pride." 
 
 ' Cheer up, ray Lass ! I'll to thy Father gOy 
 ^ The Miller cannot be the Sailor's foe ; 
 ^ Both live by Heaven's free gale that plays aloud 
 * In the stretch'd canvass and the piping shroud ;
 
 47 
 
 * The rush of winds, the flapping sails above, 
 
 ' And raltlini^ planks within, are sounds we love ; 
 
 * Calms are our dread ; when Tempests plough the Deep. 
 
 * We take a Reef, and to the rocking, sleep.' 
 
 " Ha !" quoth the 3Iilltr, movM at speech so rash, 
 " Art thou like mc ? Then where tliy Notes and Cash .' 
 " Away to TVapping, and a Wife command, 
 " With all thy wealth, a Guinea, in thine hand ; 
 " There with thy messmates quaff the muddy cheer, 
 " And leave my Lucj/ for thy Betters here." 
 
 * Revenge! Revenge !' the angry Lover cried, 
 Then sought the Nymph, and ' Be thou now my Bride.' 
 Bride had she been, but they no Priest could move 
 To bind in Law, tlie Couple bound by Love. 
 
 What sought these Lovers then by day, by night ? 
 But stolen moments of disturb'd delight ; 
 Soft trembling tumults, terrors dearly priz'd, 
 Transports that pain'd and joys tliat agoniz'd : 
 Till, the fond Damsel, pleas'd with Lad so trim, 
 Aw'd by her Parent and entic'd by him ; 
 Her lovely form from savage power to save, 
 Gave — not her Hand — but all slie could, she gave. 
 
 "Xhen came the Day of shame, the grievous Night, 
 The varying Look, the wandering Appetite ; 
 The Joy assum'd, while Sorrow dimm'd the eyes, 
 The forc'd sad Smiles that follow'd sudden Sighs ;
 
 48 
 
 And every art, long us'd, but us'd in vain, 
 To hide thy progress, Nature, and thy p;iin. 
 
 Too eager caution shews some danger 's near. 
 The Bully's bluster proves the Coward's fear ; 
 His sober step, the Drunkard vainly tries. 
 And Nymphs expose the failings they disguise. 
 
 First, whis}->ering Gossips were in parties seen ; 
 Then louder Scandal walk'd the Village-green ; 
 Next babbling Follj/ told tlic growing ill. 
 And busy Malice dropt it at the Mill. 
 
 " Go ! to thy curse and mine," the Father said, 
 *' Strife and confusion stalk around thy bed ; 
 " Want and a wailing Brat thy Portion be, 
 *' Plague to thy fondness, as thy fault to me, 
 
 " Where skulks the villain ?" 
 
 — ' On the Ocean wide, 
 * My William seeks a portion for his Bride.' — 
 
 " Vain be Ids search ! But till the traitor come, 
 " The Higler's Cottage be thy future home ; 
 " There with his antient Shrew and Care abide, 
 " And hide thy Head, thy Shame thou canst not hide." 
 
 Day after day were past in grief and pain, 
 Week after week, — nor came the Youth again ; 
 Her Boy was born — no Lads nor Lasses camfi 
 To grace the Rite or give the Child a name ;
 
 49 
 
 Nor grave conceited Nurse of office proud, 
 
 Bore the young Christian roaring through the crowd ; 
 
 In a small chamber was my office done, 
 
 Where blinks through paper il panes the setting Sun ; 
 
 Where noisy Sparrows perch'd on penthouse near, 
 
 Chirp.tuncless joy and mock the frequent tear ; 
 
 Bats on their webby wings in darkness raovCj 
 
 And feebly shriek their melancholy love. 
 
 No Sailor came ; the months in terror fled ! 
 Then news arriv'd ; He fought, and he was dead ! 
 
 At the lone Cottage Lucy lives, and still 
 Walks, for her weekly pittance, to the Mill ; 
 A mean seraglio there her Father keeps. 
 Whose mirth insults her, as she stands and weeps : 
 And sees the plenty, while compell'd to stay, 
 Her Father's pride, become his Harlot's prey. 
 
 Throughout the lanes, she glides at evening's close, 
 And softly lulls her Infant to repose ; 
 Then sits and gazes but with viewless look. 
 As gilds the Moon the rimpling of the brook ; 
 And sings her vespers, but in voice so low. 
 She hears their murmurs as the waters flow ; 
 And she too murmurs and begins to find 
 The solemn wanderings of a wounded mind ; 
 Visions of terror, views of woe succeed, 
 The mind's impatience, to the body's need ; 
 
 E
 
 50 
 
 By turns to that, by turns to this a prey, 
 
 She knoTV'SwliatReason yields and dreadswLatMadness may. 
 
 Next with their Boy, a decent Couple came, 
 And caird him Robert, 'twas his Father's name ; 
 Three Girls preceded, all by time endear'd, 
 And future Births were neither hop'd nor fear'd ; 
 Blest in each other, but to no excess ; 
 Ilealtli, quiet, comfort, form'd their happiness j 
 Love all made up of torture and delight, 
 Was but mere madness in this Couple's sight : 
 Susan could think, though not without a sigh, 
 If she were gone, who should her place supply ^ 
 And Robert half in earnest, half in jest, 
 Talk of her Spouse when he should be at rest ; 
 Yet strange would either think it to be told, 
 Their love was cooling or their hearts were cold : 
 Few were their Acres, — but they, well content, 
 Were on each pay-day, ready with their rent ; 
 And few their wishes — what their Farm denied, 
 The neighbouring town, at trifling cost, supplied ; 
 If at the Draper's window, Siisan cast 
 A longing look, as with her goods she pass'd ; 
 And with the produce of the wheel and churn, 
 Bought her a Sunday-robe on her return ; 
 True to her maxim, slie avouI take no rest, 
 Till care repay'd that portion to tlie Chest :
 
 51 
 
 Or if, when loitering at the Whitsun-fair, 
 Her Robert spent some idle shillings there ; 
 Up at the Barn, before the break of day, 
 He made his labour for th' indulgence pay ; 
 Thus both — that Waste itself might "vvork in vain 
 Wrought double tides, and all was well again. 
 
 Yet though so prudent, there were times of joy, 
 (The Day they wed, the Christening of the Boy,) 
 When to the wealthier Farmers there was shown, 
 Welcome unfeign'd, and plenty like their own ; 
 For Susan serv'd the Great and had some pride, 
 Among our topmost people to preside ; 
 Yet in that plenty, in that welcome free. 
 There was the guiding nice Frugality ; 
 That in the festal as the frugal day, 
 Has in a different mode, a sovereign sway : 
 As tides the same attractive influence know 
 In the least ebb and in their proudest flow ; 
 The wrise Frugality that does not give, 
 A life to saving but that saves to live. 
 Sparing not pinching, mindful though not mean, 
 O'er all presiding, yet in nothing seen. 
 
 Recorded next a Babe of Love I trace ! 
 Of many Loves, the Mother's fresh disgrace ; — 
 
 E 2
 
 52 
 
 '* Again, thou Harlot! could not all tliy pain, 
 " All my reproof, thy wanton thoughts restrain ?" 
 * Alas ! your Reverence, wanton thoughts, I grant, 
 
 * Were once ray motive, now tlic thoughts of want"; 
 ' Women like me, as ducks in a decoy, 
 
 * Swim down a stream and seem to swim in joy ; 
 ' Your Sex pursue us and our own disdain, 
 
 ' Return is dreadful and escape is vain. 
 
 * Would Men forsake us and would Women strive 
 ' To help the fall'i*, their Virtue might revive.' 
 
 For Rite of Churciiing soon she made her way, 
 In dread of Scandal, should she miss the day : — 
 Two IVIatrons came ! with them she humbly knelt, 
 Their action copied and their comforts felt,. 
 From that great pain and peril to be free, 
 Though still in peril of that pain to be ; 
 Alas ! what numbers like this amorous Dame, 
 Are quick to censure but are de:id to shame ! 
 
 Twin-Infants then appear, a Girl, a Boy, 
 Th' o'erflowing cup of Gerard AbletCs joy : 
 Seven have I nam'd, and but six years have past 
 By him and Judilh since I bound them fast ; 
 Well pleas'd, the Bridegroom smil'd to hear — " A Vine 
 ^' Fruitful and spreading round the walls be thine,
 
 53 
 
 ■*' And branch-like be thine Offspring!" — Gerard then 
 Look'd joyful love, and softly said, * Amen.' 
 Now of that Vine he would no more increase, 
 Those playful Branches now disturb his peace ; 
 Tliera he beholds around his table spread, 
 But finds, the more the Branch, the loss the Bread ; 
 And wliilc they run liis liumble walls about, 
 They keep the sunshine of good-humour out. 
 
 Cease, man, to grieve ! thy Master's lot survej', 
 Wliora Wife and Children, thou and thine obey; 
 A Farmer proud, beyond a Farmer's pride. 
 Of all around the cnyy or the guide ; 
 Wiio trots to market on a steed so fine, 
 That when I meet him, I'm asham'd of mine ; 
 Whose board is high up-heap'd with generous fare. 
 Which five stout Sons and three tall Daughters share: 
 Cease, man, to grieve, and listen to his care. 
 
 A few years fied, and all thy Boys sliall be 
 Lords of a Cot, and labourers like thee ; 
 Thy Girls unportioned neigiibouring youths shall lead, 
 Brides from my Church, and thenceforth thou art freed 
 But then thy Master shall of cares complain, 
 Care after care, a long connected train ; 
 His Sons for Farms siiall ask a large supply, 
 For Farmer's sons each gentle Miss shall sigh ;
 
 5^ 
 
 Tliy Mistress reasoning well of life's decay, 
 Shall ask a chaise and hardly brook delay ; 
 The smart young Cornet who, with so much grace. 
 Rode in the ranks and betted at the Race, 
 While the ycxt parent rails at deed so rash, 
 Shall d — n his luck, and stretch his hand for cash. 
 Sad troubles, Gerard! now pertain to thee, 
 When thy rich Master seems from trouble free ; 
 But 'tis one fate at different times assign'd, 
 And cares from thee departing, he must find, 
 
 *' Ah!" quoth our village Grocer, rich and old, 
 " Would ! I might one such cause for care, behold !" 
 To whom his Friend, * Mine greater bliss would be, 
 * Would Heav'n take those, my Spouse assigns to me/ 
 
 Aged were both, that Dawkins^ Ditchem this, 
 Who much of Marriage thought and much amiss; 
 Both would delay, the One, till — riches gain'd, 
 The Son he wish'd might be to honour train'd ; 
 His Friend — lest fierce intruding Heirs should come, 
 To waste his Hoard and vex his quiet Home, 
 
 DazcIiinSf a dealer once on burthen'd back, 
 Bore his whole substance in a pedlar's pack ; 
 To dames discreet, the duties yet unpaid, 
 His stores of Lace and Hyson he convey'd :
 
 55 
 
 When thus enrich'd, he chose at home to stop 
 And fleece his neighbours in a new-built shop; 
 Then woo'd a Spinster blithe and hop'd, when wed, 
 For Love's fair favours and a fruitful bed. 
 
 Not so his Friend; — on Widow fair and staid, 
 He fix'd his eye, but he was much afraid ; 
 Yet woo'd ; while she, his hair of silver hue 
 Demurely notic'd and her eye withdrew ; 
 Doubtful he paus'd — " Ah ! were I sure," he cried, 
 " No craving Children would my gains divide; 
 " Fair as she is, I would my Widow take, 
 " And live more largely for my Partner's sake." 
 
 With such their views, some thoughtfulyears they pass'd. 
 And hoping, dreading, they were bound at last. 
 And what their fate ! Observe thera as they go. 
 Comparing fear with fear and woe with woe. 
 
 " Ah! Humplirey ! Humphrey! Envy in my breast, 
 " Sickens to see thee in thy Children blest ; 
 " They are thy joys, while I go grieving home, 
 " To a sad Spouse and our eternal gloom ; 
 " We look Despondency; no Infant near, 
 " To bless the eye or win the Parent's ear; 
 " Our sudden heats and quarrels to allay, 
 " And soothe the petty suflerings of the day: 
 " Alike our want, yet both the want reprove, 
 " Where are, I cry, these Pledges of our Love?
 
 56 
 
 " When slie like Jacob's wife makes fierce reply, 
 
 *' Yet fond — Oil ! give me Children or I die ; 
 
 " And I return — still childless doom'd to live, 
 
 " Like the vex'd Patriarch, — Are they mine to give ? 
 
 " Ah ! much I envy thee, thy Boys who ride 
 
 '' On poplar branch and canter at thy side ; 
 
 •' And Girls, whose cheeks thy chin's fierce fondness know, 
 
 " And with fresh beauty at the contact, glow." 
 
 - * Oh simple friend,' said Humphrey, 'wouldst thou gain, 
 ' A Father's pleasure, by an Husband's pain ? 
 ' Alas ! what pleasure — when some vig'rous Boy 
 ' Should swell thy pride, some rosy Girl thy joy ? 
 ' Is it to doubt, who grafted this sweet flower, 
 ' Or whence arose that spirit and that power ? 
 ' Four years I 'vc wed ; not one has past in vain : 
 
 ' Behold the fifth ! Behold, a Babe again ! 
 
 * My Wife's gay friends th' unwelcome imp admire, 
 
 * And fill the room with gratulation dire ; 
 
 * While I in silence sate, revolving all ! 
 
 * That influence antient men, or that befall ; 
 
 ' A gay pert guest — Heav'n knows his business — came; 
 
 * A glorious Boy, he cried, and what the name ? 
 ' Angry I growi'd ; My spirit cease to tease, 
 
 ' Name it yourselves, — Cain, Judas, if you please, 
 
 * His father's give him, should you that explore, 
 
 * The Devil's or your's : — I said, and sought the door.
 
 57 
 
 * My tender Partner not a word or sigh 
 
 * Gives to my wrath, nor to my speech reply ; 
 
 * But takes her comforts, triumphs in my pain, 
 ' And looks undauntel for a Birth again.' — 
 
 Heirs thus denied afflict the pining heart, 
 And thus afforded, jealous pangs impart ; 
 To prove these arrows of the giant's hand, 
 Are not for Man to stay or to command. 
 
 Then with their Infants three, the Parents came, 
 And each assign'd — ^twas all they had — a Name : 
 Names of no mark or price ; of lliem not one 
 Shall court our view on the sepulchral stone; 
 Or stop the Clerk, th' engraven scrolls to spell, 
 Or keep the Sexton from the sermon-bell. 
 
 An Orphan Girl succeeds : ere she was born, 
 Her Father died, her Mother on that morn ; 
 The pious Mistress of the School sustains 
 Her Parents' part, nor their affection feigns, 
 But pitying feels : with due espect and joy, 
 I trace the Matron at her lov'd employ ; 
 What time the striplings wearied ev'n with play, 
 Part at the closing of the Summer's day. 
 And each by different path, returns the well-known way. 
 Then I behold her at her cottage-door, 
 Frugal of light : — her Bible laid before,
 
 on 
 
 When on her double duty she proceeds, 
 Of Time as frugal ; — knitting as she reads : 
 Her idle neighbours avIio approach to tell 
 Of news or nothing, her grave looks compel, 
 To hear reluctant, — while the lads who pass. 
 In pure respect, walk silent on the grass ; 
 Then sinks the day, but not to rest she goes, 
 Till solemn prayers the daily duties close. 
 
 But I digress, and lo ! an Infant-train 
 Appear, and call me to my task again. 
 
 * Why Lonkera wilt thou name thy child V 
 I ask'd the Gardener^s Wife, in accents mild : 
 " We have a right," replied the sturdy dame ; — 
 And Lonkera was the Infant's name. 
 If next a Son shall yield our Gardener joy, 
 Then Hi/acinihus shall be that fair boy ; 
 And if a Girl, they will at length agree. 
 That Belladonna that fair maid shall be. 
 
 High-sounding words our worthy Gardener gets, 
 And at his Club to wondering Swains repeats ; 
 He then of Jlhus and Rhododendron speaks, 
 And Allium calls his Onions and his Leeks ; 
 Nor Weeds are now, for whence arose the Weed, 
 Scarce Plants, fair Herbs and curious Flowers proceed 
 Where Cuckoo-pints and Dandelions sprung, 
 (Gross names had they our plainer sires among;)
 
 59 
 
 There Arumsy there Leontodons we view. 
 And Artimisia grows, where JVormwood grew. 
 
 Bat though no weed exists, his Garden round, 
 From Rumex strong our Gardener frees his ground. 
 Takes soft Senicio from the yielding land, 
 And grasps the arm'd Vrtica in his hand. 
 
 Not Darwin's self had more delight to sing 
 Of Floral Courtship, in th' awakenM spring ; 
 Than Peter Pratt, who simpering loves to tell. 
 How rise the Stamens, as the Pistils swell ; 
 How bend and curl the moist-top to the spouscj 
 And give and take the vegetable vows ; 
 How those esteera'd of old, but tips and chives. 
 Are tender husbands and obedient wives ; 
 Who live and love within the sacred bower, — 
 That bridal bed, the vulgar term a Flower. 
 
 Hear Peter proudly, to some humble friend, 
 A wondrous secret, in his science lend ; — 
 " Would you advance the nuptial hour, and bring 
 *' The fruit of Autumn, with the flowers of Spring; 
 " View that liglit frame where Cucumis lies spread, 
 " And trace the husbands in their golden bed, 
 *' Three powder'd Anthers ; — then no more delay, 
 *^ But to the Stigma's top, their dust convey ; 
 " Then by thyself, from prying glance secure, 
 " Twirl the full tip and make your purpose sure ;
 
 " A long-abulwiff race the deed sliall pay, 
 
 '' Nor one uiiblest abortion pine away." 
 
 T' admire their friend's discourse our Swains agree, 
 
 And call it Science and Philosopliy. 
 
 'Tis good, 'tis pleasant, tli rough th' advancing year, 
 To sec unnuraber'd growing Forms appear ; 
 What leafy-life from Earth's broad bosom rise! 
 AVhat insect-myriads seek the summer skies ! 
 Wliat scaly tribes in every streamlet move ! " 
 
 "What plumy people sing in every grove I / 
 
 All with the year awak'd, to life, dcliglit and love. " 
 Then Names are good, for liow, without their aid 
 Is knowledge, giiin'd by man, to man convey'd ? 
 But from that source shall all our pleasure flow ? 
 Shall all our knowledge be those Names to know ? 
 Then He, with memory blest, shail bear away 
 The palm from Grew, and Middleton, and Ray ; 
 No ! let us rather seek in Grove and Field, 
 AVhat food for Wonder, what for Use they yield ; 
 Some just remark from Nature's people bring. 
 And some new source of liomagc for her Kmg. 
 
 Pride lives with all ; strange Names our Rustics give 
 To helpless Infants, that their own may live ; 
 Pleas'd to be known, some notice they will claim, 
 And fmd some byo-wny to the Jio'ise of Fame.
 
 61 
 
 The stiai<>btest Farrow lifts the Ploughman's heart. 
 The Hat he gained has warmth for head and heairt ; 
 The Bowl that beats the greater num}>er down, 
 Of tottering Nine-pins, gives to fame the Clown ; 
 Or foil'd in these, he opes Iris ample jaws, 
 And lets a Frog leap down to gain applause ; 
 Or grins for hours, or tipples for a week, 
 Or challenges a well-pinch'd pig, to squeak ; 
 Some idle deed, some child's preposterous Name,. 
 Shall make liim known and give his folly, fame. 
 
 To name an Infant met our Village-sires^ 
 Assembled all, as such event requires ; 
 Frequent and full, the rural Sages sa(e, 
 And Speakers many urg'd the long debate, — 
 Some harden'd knaves, who rov'd the country round, 
 Had left a Babe within the Parish -bound. — 
 First, of the fact they questioned — " Was it true ?" 
 The Child was brought — " What then remain'd to do ? 
 *' Was 't dead or living ?" This was fairly prov'd, 
 'Twas pinch'd, it roar'd, and every doubt remov'd ; 
 Then by what Name th' unwelcome guest to call, 
 Was long a question and it pos'd them all : 
 For he who lent a Name to Babe unkno^Yn, 
 Censorious men might take it for his own :
 
 62 
 
 They lookM about, they ask'd tliename of all. 
 
 And not one Richard answer'd to the call ; 
 
 Next they enquii'd the day, when passing by, 
 
 Til' unh/cly peasant heard the stranger's cry ; 
 
 This known ; how Food and Raiment they might give. 
 
 Was next debated — for the rogue would lire; 
 
 At last with all their words and work content, 
 
 Back to their homes, the prudent Vestry went, 
 
 And Richard Mondaj/ to the Workhouse sent. 
 
 There was he pinch 'd and pitied, thump'd and fed, 
 
 And duly took his beatings and his bread ; 
 
 Patient in all controul, in all abuse, 
 
 He found contempt and kicking have their use : 
 
 Sad, silent, supple: bending to the blow, 
 
 A slave of slaves, the lowest of the low; 
 
 His pliant soul gave way to all things base, 
 
 He knew no shame, he dreaded no disgrace : 
 
 It seem'd, so well his passions he suppress'd. 
 
 No feeling stirr'd his ever-torpid breast ; 
 
 Him might the meanest pauper bruise and cheat. 
 
 He was a footstool for the beggar's feet ; 
 
 His were the legs that ran at all commands ; 
 
 They us'd on all occasions, Richard''s hands ; 
 
 His very soul was not his own ; he stole 
 
 As others order'd, and without a dole ;
 
 63 
 
 In all disputes, on either part he lied, 
 
 And freely pledg'd his oath on either side , 
 
 In all rebellions Richard pin^d the rest, 
 
 In all detections Richard first confcss'd ; 
 
 Yet though disgrac'd, he watch'd his time so well. 
 
 He rose in favour, when in fame he fell ; 
 
 Base was his usage, vile his whole employ, 
 
 And all despis'd and fed the pliant boy : 
 
 At length, " 'tis time he should abroad be sent," 
 
 Was whisper'd near him, — and abroad he went ; 
 
 One morn they call'd him, Richard ansv/ei^d not, 
 
 They doom'd him hanging and in time forgot, — 
 
 Yetraiss'd him long, as each, throughout the clan. 
 
 Found he " had better spar'd a better man." 
 
 Now Richard's talents for the world were fit, 
 He'd no small cunning and had some small wit ; 
 Had that calm look which seemed to all assent, 
 And that complacent speech which nothing meant ; 
 He'd but one care and that he strove to Iiide, 
 How best for Richard Monday to provide : 
 Steel, through opposing plates the Magnet draws, 
 And steelly atoms culls from dust and straws ; 
 And thus our Hero, to his interest true. 
 Gold through all bars and from each trifle drew ; 
 But still more surely round the world to go, 
 This Fortune's Child, had neither friend nor foe.
 
 64! 
 
 Long lost to us, at last our man we (race, 
 Sir Richard Monday died at Mondqiy-place ; 
 His Lady's worth, Jiis Daughler's we peruse,- 
 And find his Grandsons all as rich as Jews ; 
 He gave refornaing Charities a sum, 
 And bought the blessings of the Blind and Dumb ; 
 Bequeath'd to Missions money from the Stocks, 
 And Bibles issu'd from his private box ; 
 But to his native place severely just, 
 He left a pittance bound in rigid trust ; 
 Two paltry pounds, on every quarter's-day, 
 (At church produc'd) for forty loaves should pay ; 
 A stinted gift, that to the Parish shows, 
 He kept in mind their bounty and their blows ! 
 
 To Farmers three, the Year has giv'n a Son, 
 Finch on the Moor, and French and Middlclon ; 
 Twice in this year a female Giles I see, 
 A Spalding once, and once a Barnaby ; 
 An humble man is he and when they meet, 
 Our Farmers find him on a distant seat; 
 There for their wit he serves a constant theme, 
 " They praise his Dairy, they extol his Team, 
 " They ask the price of each unrivall'd Steed, 
 " And whence his Sheep, that admirable breed ;
 
 75 
 
 What grievous pangs ! wliat suffering slie'll imparl, 
 And fill with anguish that rebellious Heart ; 
 For thou wilt strive incessantly, in vain, 
 By threatening Speech, thy Freedom to regain ; 
 But she for Conquest married, nor will prove 
 A Dupe to Thee, thine Anger or thy Love ; 
 Clamorous her Tongue will be ; — of either Sex, 
 She'll gather friends around thee and perplex 
 Thy doubtful Soul; — thy Money she will waste, 
 In costly Frippery cuU'd with vulgar taste ; 
 And will be happy to exert her power. 
 In every Eye, in thine, at every hour. 
 
 Then wilt thou bluster — " No ! thou wilt not rest, 
 " And see consum'd each Shilling of thy Chest;" 
 Thou wilt be valiant, — " when her Cousins call, 
 *' Thou wilt abuse and shut thy door on alh" 
 Thou wilt be cruel ! — " what the Law allows, 
 '' That be thy Portion, my ungrateful Spouse! 
 ** Nor other Shillings shalt thou then receive, 
 
 <* And when I die" " what 1 may I this believe ? 
 
 *' Are these true tender tears ? and does my Kill)/ grieve ? 
 *' Ah ! crafty xixen^ thine Old Man has fears ; 
 *' But weep no more ! I'm melted by thy tears ; 
 " Sparc but my Money, thou shall rule me still, 
 " And see thy Cousins there ! I burn the Will."-
 
 74 
 
 Thus with Example sad, our Year began, 
 A wanton Vixen and a weary Man ; 
 " But had this Talc in other guise been told,'* 
 Young let the Lover be, the Lady old. 
 And that Disparity of Years shall prove 
 No bane of Peace, although some bar to Love : 
 *Tis not the worst, our Nuptial Ties among, 
 That joins the Anticnt Bride and Bridegroom Young j— 
 Young Wives, like changing Winds, their power display. 
 By shifting Points and varying day by day ; 
 Now Zephyrs mild, now Whirlwinds in their force, 
 They sometimes speed, but often thwart our Course : 
 And much experienc'd should that Pilot be. 
 Who sails with them on Life's tempestuous Sea: 
 But like a Trade- Wind is the Antient Dame, 
 Mild to your wish and every dny the same ; 
 Steady as Time, no sudden Squalls you fear, 
 But set fnll-sail and with assurance steer ; 
 Till every Danger in your way be past, 
 And then she gently, mildly breathes her last ; 
 Rich you arrive, in Port awhile remain, 
 And for a second Venture sail again. 
 
 For this, blithe Donald southward made his way, 
 And left the Lasses on the Banks of Totj ,-
 
 75 
 
 Hira to a neighbouring Garden Fortune sent, 
 Whom we beheld, aspiringly content : 
 Patient and mild he sought the Dame to please, 
 Who rul'd the Kitchen and who bore the Keys ; 
 Fair Luc?/ first, the Laundry's Grace and Pride, 
 With smiles and gracious looks, her Fortune tried ; 
 But all in vain she prais'd his " pawky Eyne," 
 Where never fondness was for Luc?/ seen ; 
 Him the mild Susan, boast of Dairies, lov'd. 
 And found him civil, cautious, and unmov'd ; 
 From many a fragrant Simple, Catharines skill, 
 Drew Oil, and Essence from the boiling Still ; 
 But not her Warmth, nor all her winning Ways, 
 From his cool phlegm could Do7?ald^s spirit raise; 
 Of Beauty heedless, with the Merry mute, 
 To Mistress Dobsot? he preferr'd his suit ; 
 There prov'd his Service, there address'd his Vows, 
 And saw her Mistress, — Friend, — Protectress, — Spouse 
 A Butler now, he thanks his powerful Bride, 
 And like her Keys keeps constant at her side. 
 
 Next at our Altar stood a luckless Pair, 
 Brought by strong Passions and a Warrant there ; 
 By long rent cloak, hung loosely, strove the Bride, 
 From ev'ry eye, what all perceiv'd, to hide.
 
 76 
 
 While the Boy-Bridegroom, shuffling in his pace, 
 
 Now hid awhile and then expos'd his Face; 
 
 As Shame alternately with Anger strove, 
 
 The Brain, confus'd with muddy Ale, to move ; 
 
 In haste and stammering he perform'd his part. 
 
 And look'd the Rage that rankled in his heart ; 
 
 (So will each Lover inly curse his fate, 
 
 Too soon made happy and made wise too late ;) 
 
 I saw his Features take a savage gloom, 
 
 And deeply threaten for the days to come ; 
 
 Low spake the Lass, and lisp'd and minc*d the while, 
 
 Look'd on the Lad and faintly try'd to smile ; 
 
 With soft'ned speech and humbled tone she strove, 
 
 To stir the embers of departed Love ; 
 
 While he a Tyrant, frowning walk'd before, 
 
 Felt the poor Purse and sought the Public-door, 
 
 She sadly following in submission went, 
 
 And saw the final Shilling foully spent ; 
 
 Then to her Father*s hut the Pair withdrew. 
 
 And bade to Love and Comfort long adieu ! 
 
 Ah ! fly temptation, Youth, refrain ! refrain ? 
 
 I preach for ever ; but I preach in vain ! 
 
 Two summers since, I saw at Lammas Fair, 
 The sweetest Flower that ever blossom'd there i
 
 77 
 
 When Phcehe Daz0son gaily cross'd the Green, 
 
 In haste to see and happy to be seen ; 
 
 Her Air, her Manners, all who saw, admir'd; 
 
 Courteous though coy and gentle though retired; 
 
 The Joy of Youth and Health her Eyes display'd, 
 
 And Ease of Heart her every Look convey'd ; 
 
 A native Skill her simple Robes expressed, 
 
 As with untutor'd elegance she dress'd ; 
 
 The Lads around admir'd so fair a sight, 
 
 And Phccbe felt, and felt she gave. Delight. 
 
 Admirers soon of every Age she gain'd, 
 
 Her Beauty won them and her Worth retained ; 
 
 Envy itself could no Contempt display. 
 
 They wish'd her well, whom yet they wish'd away ; 
 
 Correct in thought, she judg'd a Servant's Place 
 
 Preserv'd a Rustic Beauty from disgrace ; 
 
 But yet on Sunday-eve in Freedom's hour, 
 
 With secret joy she felt that Beauty's power ; 
 
 When some proud bliss upon the Heart would steal, 
 
 That, poor or rich, a Beauty still must feel. — 
 
 At length, the Youth, ordain'd to move her breast, 
 Before the Swains with bolder spirit press'd ; 
 With looks less timid made his Passion known, 
 And ploas'd by Manners, most unlike her own ; 
 Loud though in Love and confident though young; 
 Fierce in his air and voluble of tongue;
 
 78 
 
 By trade a Tailor, thougli, in scorn of trade, 
 He scrv'd the Squire, and brusli'd the Coat he made; 
 Yet now, would Phoebe her Consent afford, 
 Her slave alone, aj^ain he 'd mount the Board ; 
 With her should years of growing Love be spent, 
 And growing Wealth : — She sigh'd and look'd consent. 
 Now, through the lane, up hill, and cross the Green, 
 (Seen by but few and blushing to be seen — 
 Dejected, thoughtful, anxious, and afraid,) 
 Led by the Lover, walk'd the silent Maid : 
 Slow through the meadows rov'd they, many a mile, 
 Toy'd by each bank and trifled at each stile ; 
 Where, as he painted every blissful view, 
 And highly colour'd what he strongly drew, 
 The pensive Damsel, prone to tender fears, 
 Dimm'd the false prospect with prophetic tears : 
 Thus pass'd th' allotted Hours, till lingering late. 
 The Lover loiter'd at the Master's gate ; 
 There he pronounc'd adieu ! and yet would stay. 
 Till chidden — sooth'd — intreated — forc'd away ; 
 He would of coldness, though indulg'd, complain, 
 And oft retire and oft return again ; 
 When, if his teasing vex'd her gentle mind, 
 The Grief assum'd, compell'd her to be kind ! 
 For he would proof of plighted Kindness crave. 
 That she resented first and then forgave,
 
 79 
 
 And to his Grief and Penance yielded more, 
 Than his Presumption had requir'd before : — 
 Ah ! fly temptation, Youth, refrain ! refrain, 
 Each yielding Maid and each presuming Swain! 
 
 Lo ! now with red rent Cloak and Bonnet black, 
 And torn green Gown loose hanging at her back, 
 One who an Infant in her arm sustains, 
 And seems in patience, striving with her pains ; 
 Pinch'd are her Looks, as one who pines for Bread, 
 Whose Cares are growing and whose Hopes are fled ; 
 Pale her parch'd Lips, her heavy Eyes sunk low. 
 And Tears unnotic'd from their Channels flow ; 
 Serene her manner, till some sudden Pain, 
 Frets the meek soul and then she 's calm again ; — 
 Her broken Pitcher to the Pool she takes. 
 And every step with cautious terror makes ; 
 For not alone that Infant in her arms. 
 But nearer Cause, her anxious Soul alarms ; 
 With Water burthen'd, then she picks her way, 
 Slowly and cautious, in the clinging clay; 
 Till, in Mid-Green, she trusts a place unsound. 
 And deeply plunges in th' adhesive ground ; 
 Thence, but with pain, her slender foot she takes, 
 While Hope the Mind as Strength the Frame forsakes ;
 
 80 
 
 For when so full the Cup of Sorrow grows, 
 
 Add but a drop, it histaiitly overflows. — 
 
 And now her Path but not her Peace she gains, 
 
 Safe from her Task, but shivering with her pains ; 
 
 Her Home she reaches, open leaves the door, 
 
 And placing first her Infant on the floor, 
 
 She bares her Bosom to the Wind and sits, 
 
 And sobbing struggles with the rising Fits ; 
 
 Jn vain, they come, she feels th' inflating grief, 
 
 That shuts the swelling Bosom from relief; 
 
 That speaks in feeble cries a Soul distrest. 
 
 Or the sad laugh that cannot be represt ; 
 
 The Neighbour- Matron leaves her Wheel and flies 
 
 With all the aid her Poverty supplies ; 
 
 Unfee'd, the Calls of Nature she obeys, 
 
 Not led by profit, not allur'd by praise ; 
 
 And waiting long, till these Contentions cease. 
 
 She speaks of Comfort and departs in peace. 
 
 Friend of Distress ! the Mourner feels thy Aid, 
 She cannot pay thee, but thou wilt be paid. 
 
 But who this Child of Weakness, Want, and Care? 
 'Tis Phcche Dai^son^ Pride of Lammas-Fair ; 
 Who took her Lover for his sparkling Eyes, 
 Expressions warm, and love-inspiring Lies :
 
 65 
 
 " His thriving arts they beg he would explain, 
 " And where he puts the Money he must gain : — 
 *' They have their Daughters, but they fear their friend 
 *' Would think his Sons too much would condescend ;— 
 " They have their Sons who would their fortunes try, 
 ** But fear his Daughters will their suit deny." 
 So runs the joke, while James with sigh profound; 
 And face of care, keeps looking on the ground ; 
 These looks and sighs provoke the insult more, 
 And point the jest — for Barnaby is poor. 
 
 Last in my List, five untaught Lads appear ; 
 Their Father dead. Compassion sent them here, 
 For still that rustic Infidel denied, 
 To have their Names with solemn Rite applied : 
 His, a lone House, by Dead-man's Dyke- way stood ; 
 And his, a nightly Haunt, in Lonely-wood ; 
 Each Village Inn has heard the ruffian boast. 
 That he believ'd * in neither God nor Ghost ; 
 
 * That when the sod upon the Sinner press'd, 
 
 * He, like the Saint, had everlasting rest ; 
 
 * That never Priest believ'd his Doctrines true, 
 
 * But would, for profit, own himself a Jew, 
 
 * Or worship Wood and Stone, as honest Heathen do; 
 
 * That fools alone on future Worlds rely, 
 
 ' And all who die for Faith, deserve to die.'
 
 66 
 
 These Maxims,— part th' Attorney's Clerk profess'd, 
 His own transcendant genius found the rest. 
 Our pious Matrons heard and much amaz'd, 
 Gaz'd on the Man and trembled as they gaz'd ; 
 And now his Face explor'd and now his Feet, 
 Man's dreaded Foe, in this Bad Man, to meet : 
 But him our Drunkards as their Champion rais'd, 
 Their Bishop call'd, and as their Hero prais'd ; 
 Though most when sober, and the rest, when sick, 
 Had little question, whence his Bishoprick. 
 
 But he, triumphant Spirit ! all things dar'd. 
 He poach'd the Wood and on the Warren snar'd ; 
 'Twas his, at Cards, each Novice to trepan. 
 And call the Wants of Rogues the Rights of Man ; 
 Wild as the Winds, he let his OiFspring rove. 
 And deem'd the Marriage-Bond the Bane of Love. 
 
 What Age and Sickness for a Man so bold, 
 Had done, we know not; — none beheld him old : 
 By night as business urg'd, he sought the Wood, 
 The ditch was deep, the rain had caus'd a flood ; 
 The foot-bridge fail'd, he plung'd beneath the Deep, 
 And slept, if truth were his, th' eternal sleep. 
 
 These haVe we nam'd ; on Life's rough Sea they sail, 
 With many a prosperous, many an adverse gale !
 
 67 
 
 Where Passion soon, like powerful Winds, will rage, 
 While wearied Prudence with their Strength engage ; 
 Then eacli, in aid, sliall some Companion ask, 
 For Help or Comfort in the tedious task ; 
 And what that Help — what Joys from Union flow. 
 What Good or III, we next prepare to show ; 
 And row, meantime, our weary Bark ashore, 
 As Spencer his — but not with Spencer's Oar*. 
 
 * Allusions of this kind are to be found in the Fairy-Queen. 
 See the end of the first book, and other places. 
 
 f2
 
 PART II. 
 
 MARRIAGES.
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 Previous Consideration necessary : yet not too long Delai/. — Im- 
 prudent Marriage of Old Kirk and his Servant. — Comparison 
 betixeen an antient and youthful Partner to a Young Man. — 
 Prudence of Donald the Gardener. — Parish ff^edding : the com- 
 pelled Bridegroom : Day of Marriage, how spent. — Relation 
 oftlie Accomplishments ofPliccbe Daivson, aRustic Beauty: her 
 Lover: his Courtship : their Marriage. — Misery of Precipita- 
 tion. — The JVealthy Coteple : Reluctance in the Husband ; zi'hy ? 
 — Unusually fair Signatures in the Register : the conwion Kind. 
 ^-Seduction of Bridget Daxvdle by Footman Daniel: her Rustic 
 Lover ; her Return to him. — J71 Antient Couple ; Comparisons 
 on the occasion. — More pleasant Tiezv ofFillage Matrimony : 
 Farmers celebrating the Day of Marriage ; their Wives. — 
 Reuben and Rachel an happy Pair : an Example of Prudent 
 Delay. — Reflections on their State zi'ho rvere not so prudent, 
 and its Improvement towards the TerjJiination of Life : an Old 
 Man so circumstanced. — Attempt to seduce a Village Beauty : 
 Persuasion and Reply : the Event.
 
 THE 
 
 PARISH REGISTER. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Nubere si qui voles, quamvis properabitis ambo. 
 Differ ; habent parvse commoda magna morse. 
 
 Ovid. Fast, lib. 3. 
 
 JJiSPOS'D to wedj ev'n while you hasten, stayj 
 There's great Advantage in a small Delay : 
 Thus Ovid sang, and much the Wise approve 
 This prudent Maxim of the Priest of Love : 
 If Poor, Delay for future Want prepares 
 And eases humble Life of half its Cares ; 
 If Rich, Delay shall brace the thoughtful Mind, 
 T' endure the Ills that ev'n the happiest find s 
 Delay shall Knowledge yield on either part, 
 And shew the Value of the vanquish'd Heart :
 
 72 
 
 The Humours, Passions, Merits, Failings prove, 
 And gently raise the Veil that 's worn by Love ; 
 Love, that impatient Guide! — too proud to think 
 Of vulgar Wants, of Clothing, Meat and Drink, 
 Urges our amorous Swains their Joys to seize. 
 And then at Rags and Hunger, frighten'd flees: 
 Yet not too long in cold Debate remain, 
 Till Age, refrain not — but if Old, refrain. 
 
 By no such Rule, would Gaffer Kirk be tied ; 
 First in the Year he led a blooming Bride, 
 And stood a wither'd Elder at her side. 
 Oh ! Nathan ! Nathan ! at thy years, trepanned, 
 To take a wanton Harlot by the hand ! 
 Thou, who wert us'd so tartly to express 
 Thy sense of Matrimonial Happiness, 
 Till every Youth, whose Banns at Church were read, 
 Strove not to meet, or meeting, hung his head ; 
 And every Lass forbore at thee to look, 
 A sly old Fish, too cunning for the Hook ; — 
 And now at Sixty, that pert Dame to see, 
 Of all thy Savings Mistress, and of Thee; 
 Now will the Lads, rctnerab'ring insults past, 
 Cry, " What, the Wise-one in the trap at last J" 
 
 Fie! Nathan, fie! to let an artful Jade, 
 The close recesses of thine Heart invade;
 
 81 
 
 Compassion first assail'd her gentle Heart, 
 
 For all his siifFering, all his bosom's smart : 
 
 *' And then his Prayers! they would a Savage move, 
 
 " And win the coldest of the Sex to Love:" — 
 
 But ah ! too soon his Looks Success declar'd, 
 
 Too late her Loss the Marriage-rite repair'd ; 
 
 The faithless Flatterer then his Vows forgot, 
 
 A captious Tyrant or a noisy Sot : 
 
 If present, railing, till he saw her pain'd ; 
 
 If absent, spending what their Labours gain'd ; 
 
 Till that fair Form in want and sickness pin'd, 
 
 And Hope and Comfort fled that gentle Mind. 
 
 Then fly temptation. Youth ; resist, refrain ! 
 
 Nor let me preach for ever and in vain ! 
 
 Next came a well-drest Pair, who left their Coach, 
 And made, in long procession, slow approach : 
 For, this gay Bride had many a Female Friend, 
 And Youths were there, this favour'd Youth t' attend 
 Silent, nor wanting due respect, the Crowd 
 Stood humbly round and Gratulation bow'd ; 
 But not that silent Crowd, in wonder fixt, 
 Not numerous Friends, who praise and envy mix*d> 
 Nor Nymphs attending near to swell the pride 
 Of one more fair, the ever-smiling Bride ; 
 
 G
 
 lase : J 
 
 82 
 
 Nor that gay Bride adorn'd with every Grace, 
 
 Nor Love nor Joy triumj)hant in her Face, 
 
 Could from the Youtli's, sad signs of Sorrow chase 
 
 Why didst thou grieve ? Wealth, Pleasure, Freedom thine; 
 
 Vex'd it thy soul, that Freedom to resign ? 
 
 Spake Scandle truth ? " Then didst not then intend, 
 
 So soon to bring thy wooing to an end ?'* 
 
 Or was it, as our prating Rustics say. 
 
 To end as soon, but in a different way ? 
 
 'Tis told thy Phj/Uis is a skilful Dame, 
 
 Who play'd uninjur'd with the dangerous Flame: 
 
 That while like Lovelace thou thy Coat display'd 
 
 And hid the Snare, prepared to catch the Maid, 
 
 Thee with her Net, she found the means to catch, 
 
 And at the amorous See-saw, won the Match* ; 
 
 Yet others tell, the Captain fix'd thy doubt, 
 
 He'd call thee Brother, or he'd call thee out :— 
 
 But rest the Motive — all Retreat too late, 
 
 Joy like thy Bride's should on thy brow have sate ; 
 
 The deed had then appear'd thine own intent, 
 
 A glorious day, by gracious fortune sent. 
 
 In each revolving Year to be in triumph spent. 
 
 * Clarissa, vol, vii. Lovelace's Letter.
 
 83 
 
 TJioii in few weeks that cloudy Brow had beeu. 
 
 Without a wonder or a whisper seen ; 
 
 And none had been so weak as to enquire, 
 
 ■' Why pouts my Lady ?" or '^ why frowns the Squire ?" 
 
 How fair these Names, how much unlike they look 
 To all the blurr'd Subscriptions in my Book ; 
 The Bridegroom's Letters stand in row above, 
 Tapering yet stout, like Pine-trees in his Grove ; 
 AVhile free and fine the Bride's appear beloAV, 
 As light and slender as her Jasmines grow ; 
 Mark now in-what confusion, stoop or stand, 
 The crooked Scrawls of many a clownish Hand, 
 Now out, now in, they droop, they fall, they rise. 
 Like raw Recruits drawn forth for Exercise ; 
 Ere yet reform'd and modell'd by the Drill, 
 The free-born Legs stand striding as they will. 
 
 Much have 1 tried to guide the Fist along. 
 But still the Blunderers plac'd their Blottings wrong : 
 Behold these Marks uncouth ! how strange that men, 
 Who guide the Plough, should fail to guide the Pen ; 
 For half a mile, the Furrows even lie; 
 For half an inch the Letters stand awry ; — 
 Is it that, strong and sturdy in the Field, 
 They scorn the Arms of idle men to wield ; 
 
 g2
 
 84 
 
 Or give that Hand to ii:ui(lc the GoosoqiiiH-tipv 
 That rules a T«*am antl brandislies a Whip ? 
 The Lions they, whom conscious powers forbid. 
 To play the Ape and " dandle with the Kid." 
 
 But yet, small Arts have charms for Female Eyes ; 
 Our Rustic Nymphs, the Beau and Scholar prize j 
 Unletter'd Swains and Plough-men coarse, they slight. 
 For those who dress and Amorous Scrolls indite. 
 
 For Bridget Daiodle happier Days had been, 
 Had Footman DamV/ scorn'd his native Green; 
 Or when he came an idle Coxcomb down, 
 Had he his Love reserv'd for Lass in Town ; 
 To Roger Pluck she then had pledg'd her Truth, — 
 A sturdy, sober, kind, unpolish'd Youth ; 
 But from the day, that fatal day she spied 
 The Pride of Daniel, Daniel was her Pride. 
 In all Concerns was Roger just and true, 
 But coarse his Doublet was and patch'd in view, ' 
 
 And Felt his Stockings were and blacker than his Shoe; 
 While DatiieVs Linen all was fine and fair, — 
 His Master wore it and he deign'd to wear; — 
 (To wear his Livery, some Respect might prove ; 
 To wear his Linen, must be sign of Love ;) 
 Blue was his Goat, unsoil'd by spot or stain ; 
 His Hose were Silk, his Shoes of Spanish-grain ;
 
 85 
 
 A Silver Knot, his breadth of Shoulder bore ; 
 A Diamond Buckle blaz'd his Breast before ; 
 Diamond he swore it was ! and sliew'd it as he swore : 
 Rings on his Fingers shone ; his milk-white Hand, 
 Could Pick-tooth Case and Box for Snuff command : 
 And thus, with clouded Cane, a Fop complete. 
 He stalk'd, the jest and glorj' of the Street : 
 Join'd with these powers, he could so sweetly sing, 
 Talk with such toss and saunter with such swing ; 
 Laugh with such Glee and trifle with such Art, 
 That Bridget's Promise, fail'd to shield her Heart. 
 
 Roger, meantime, to ease his amorous Cares, 
 Fix'd his full mind upon his Farm's Affairs ; 
 Two Pigs, a Cow, and Wethers half a Score, 
 Increas'd his Stock and still he look'd for more ; 
 He, for his Acres few, so duly paid. 
 That yet more Acres to his lot were laid ; 
 Till our chaste Nymphs no longer felt disdain, 
 And prudent Matrons prais'd the frugal Swain ; 
 Who thriving well, through many a fruitful Year, 
 Now cloth'd himself anew, and acted Overseer. 
 
 Just then poor Bridget from her Friend in Town, 
 Fled in pure fear, and came a beggar down ; 
 Trembling at Roger^s door, she knock'd for Bread, — 
 Was chidden first, next pitied, and then fed ; 
 Then sat at Roger's Board, then shar'd in Roger's Bed : 
 
 \
 
 86 
 
 All Hope of Marriage lost in her Disgrace, 
 
 He mourns a Flame rcviv'd, and sbc a love of Lace 
 
 Now to be wed, a well-match'd Couple came ; 
 Twice had old Lodi^e been tied, and twice the Dame ; 
 Tottering they came and toying, (odious scene !) 
 And fond and simple, as they'd always been. 
 Children, from Wedlock \ye by Laws restrain ; 
 Why not prevent them, when they're such again ? 
 Why not forbid the doating Souls, to prove, 
 Th' indecent Fondling of preposterous Love ? 
 h\ spite of Prudence, uncontroU'd by Shame, 
 The amorous Senior wooes the toothless Dame, 
 Relating idly, at the closhig eve, 
 The youthful Follies he disdains to leave ; 
 Till youthful Follies wake a transient Fire, 
 When arm in arm, they totter and retire. 
 
 So a fond Pair of solemn Birds, all day. 
 Blink in their seat and doze the hours away ; 
 Then by the Moon awaken'd, forth they move, 
 And fright the Songsters, with their cheerless Love. 
 
 So two sear Trees, dry, stunted, and unsound, 
 Each other catch, when dropping to the ground ; 
 Entwine their wither'd Arms 'gainst wind and weather. 
 And shake their leafless Heads and drop together. 
 
 So two dead Limbs, touch'd by Galvani's Wire, 
 Move with new life and feel awaken'd fire ;
 
 87 
 
 Quivering awhile, their flaccid Forms remain, 
 Then turn to cold torpidity again. 
 
 " But ever frowns your Hymen ? Man and Maid, 
 " Are all repeating, sufFering or betray'd f " 
 Forbid it Love ! Ave have our Couples here, 
 Who hail the Day in each revolving Year : 
 These are with us, as in the World around ; ] 
 They are not frequent, but they may be found. 
 
 Our Farmers too, what though they fail to prove^ 
 In Hymen's Bonds, the tenderest Slaves of Love," 
 (Nor, like those Pairs whom Sentiment unites, 
 Feel they the fervour of the Mind's Delights ;) 
 Yet coarsely kind and comfortably gay, 
 They heap the Board and hail the happy Day ; 
 And though the Bride, now freed from School, admits 
 Of Pride implanted there, some transient fits ; 
 Yet soon she casts her girlish Flights aside. 
 And in substantial Blessings rests her Pride. 
 
 No more she plays, no more attempts to fit 
 Her steps responsive to the squeaking Kit ; 
 No more recites her French, the Hinds among. 
 But chides her Maidens in her mother-tongue ; 
 Her Tambour-frame she leaves and Diet spare, 
 Plain-work and Plenty with her House to share ;
 
 88 
 
 Till, all her Varnish lost, in few short year.«> 
 In all her Worth, the Farmer's Wife appears. 
 Yet not the ancient Kind ; nor she who gave 
 Her soul io gain — a Mistress and a Slave ; 
 Who not to Sleep allow'd the needful Time ! 
 To whom Repose was loss, and Sport a crime ; 
 Who in her meanest Room, (and all were mean,) 
 A noisy Drudge, from morn till night was seen ; — 
 But she, the Daughter, boasts a decent Room, 
 Adorn'd with Carpet, form'd in Wilton's loom ; 
 Fair Prints along the paper'd wall are spread ; 
 There, Werter sees the sportive Children fed. 
 And Charlotte here, bewails her Lover dead. 
 'Tis here, assembled, while in room apart 
 Their Husbands drinking warm the opening heart. 
 Our neighbouring Dames, on Festal Days, unite 
 With tongues more fluent and with hearts as light ; 
 Their's is that Art, which English Wives alone. 
 Profess — a boast and privilege their own ; 
 An Art it is, where each at once attends 
 To all, and claims attention from her Friends, 
 When they engage the Tongue, the Eye, the Ear ; 
 Reply when list'ning, and when speaking hear : 
 The ready Converse knows no dull delays, 
 " But double are the Pains, and double be the Praise *.'* 
 
 * Spencer.
 
 89 
 
 Yet not to those alone who bear Command, 
 Heav'n gives a Heart to hail the Marriage Band ; 
 Among their servants, we the Pairs can show, 
 Who much to Love and more to Prudence owe: 
 Reuben and Raehel, thougli as fond as Doves, 
 Were yet discreet and cautious in their Loves ; 
 Nor would attend to Cupid's wild Commands, 
 Till cool Reflection bade them join their Hands ; 
 When both were poor, they thought it argued ill 
 Of hasty Love to make them poorer still ; 
 Year after year, with Savings long laid by, 
 They bought the future Dwelling's full Supply: 
 Her frugal Fancy cuU'd the smaller Ware, 
 The weightier Purchase ask'd her Reuben's Care; 
 Together then their last Year's Gain they threw, 
 And lo ! an auction'd Bed, w^th Curtains neat and new. 
 
 Thus both, as Prudence counsell'd, wisely stay'd, 
 And cheerful then the Calls of Love obey'd : 
 What if, when Rachel gave her Hand, 'twas one 
 Embrown'd by Winter's Ice and Summer's Sun ; 
 What if, in Reubens Hair, the female Eye 
 Usurping Grey among the Black could spy ; 
 What if in both, Life's bloomy Flush was lost. 
 And their full Autumn felt the mellowing Frost ; 
 Yet Time, who blow'd the Rose of Youth away, 
 Had left the vigorous Stem without decay ;
 
 90 
 
 Like those tall Elms, iu Farmer Franlford\ Ground, 
 They'll ^row no more, — but all their Growth is sound 
 Qy time confnm'd and rooted in the Land, 
 The storms they've stood, still promise they shall stand . 
 
 These are the happier Pairs, their Life has rest, 
 Their Hopes are strong, their humble Portion blest ; 
 While those more rash to hasty Marriage led. 
 Lament th' impatience which now stints their Bread ; 
 When such their Union, years of Pain they know. 
 Their Joys come seldom and their Pains pass slow ; 
 In Health just fed, in Sickness just reliev'd ; 
 By Hardships harass'd and by Children griev'd ; 
 In petty Quarrels and in peevish Strife, 
 The once fond Couple waste the Spring of Life j 
 But when to Age mature those Children grown, 
 Find Hopes and Homes and Hardships of their own ; 
 The harass'd Couple feel their lingering Woes 
 Then passing off and find, at length, Repose. 
 Complaints and Murmurs then are laid aside, 
 (By Reason these subdued and those by Pride,) 
 And calm in Cares with Patience Man and Wife, 
 Agree to share the Bitter-sweet of Life ; 
 (Life that has Sorrow much and Sorrow's Cure, 
 Where they who most enjoy shall much endure ;) 
 Their Rest, their Labour, Duties, Sufferings, Prayers. 
 Compose the Soul and fit it for its Cares ;
 
 91 
 
 riieir Graves before them and their Griefs behind, 
 
 Have each a Med'cine for the Rustic Mind ; 
 
 Nor has he care to whom his Wealth shall gOy 
 
 Or who shall labour with his Spade and Hoe ; 
 
 But as he lends the Strength that yet remains, 
 
 And some dead Neighbour on his Bier sustains, 
 
 (One with whom oft he whirl'd the bounding Flailj 
 
 Toss'd the broad Coitc or took th' inspiring Ale) : 
 
 " For nie ," (he meditates,) " shall soon be done, 
 
 " This friendly Duty, when rny Race be run ; 
 
 " 'Twas first in Trouble as in Error past, 
 
 *' Dark Clouds and stormy Cares wholeYears o'crcast, 
 
 ^' But calm ray setting Day and Sunshine smiles at last ; 
 
 " My Vices punish'd and my Follies spent, 
 
 *' Not loth to die but yet to live content, 
 
 *' I rest :" — then casting on the Grave his eye, 
 
 His Friend compels a Tear and his own Griefs a Sigh, 
 
 Last on my List appears a Match of Love, 
 And one of Virtue; — happy may it prove ! — 
 Sir Edward Archer is an amorous Knight, 
 And Maidens chaste and lovely shun his sight ; 
 His Bailiff's Daughter suited much his taste. 
 For Fanny Price was lovely and was chaste ; 
 To her the Knight with gentle looks drew near, 
 And timid voice, assum'd to banish Fear. —
 
 92 
 
 " Hope of my Life, clear Sovereign of my Breast, 
 Which, since I knew thee, knows not Joy nor Rest; 
 Know thou art all that my delighted Eyes, 
 My fondest Thoughts, ray proudest Wishes prize ; 
 And is that Bosom — (what on earth so fair?) 
 To cradle some coarse Peasant's sprawling Heir ? 
 To be that Pillow which some surly Swain, 
 May treat with scorn and agonize with pain ? 
 Art thou, sweet Maid, a Ploughman'is Wants to share, 
 To dread his Insult, to support his Care; 
 To hear his Follies, his Contempt to prove, 
 And (oh I the torment !)to endure his Love ; 
 Till Want and deep Regret, those Charms destroy, 
 That Time would spare, if Time were pass'd in joy ? 
 " With him in varied Pains from morn till night, 
 Your Hours shall pass ; yourself a Ruffian's right ; 
 Your softest Bed shall be the knotted Wool ; 
 Your purest Drink, the Waters of the Pool ! 
 Your sweetest Food will but your Life sustain ; 
 And your best Pleasure be a Rest from Pain ; 
 While thro' each Year, as Health and Strength abate. 
 You'll weep your Woes and wonder at your Fate; 
 And cry, * Behold, as Life's last Cares come on, 
 * My Burthens growing when my Strength is gone.' 
 " Now turn with me and all the Young desire, 
 " That Taste can form, that Fancy can require ;
 
 93 
 
 All that excites Enjoyment or procures, 
 
 Wealth, Health, Respect, Deliglit, and Lovcare yours : 
 
 Sparkling, in Cups of Gold, your Wines shall flow, 
 
 Grace that fair Hand, in that dear Bosom i^low ; 
 
 Fruits of each Clime and Flowers tlirough all the Year, 
 
 Shall on your Walls and in your Walks appear : 
 
 Where all beholding, shall your Praise repeat, 
 
 No Fruit so tempting and no Flower so sweet ; — 
 
 The softest Carpets in your Rooms shall lie. 
 
 Pictures of happiest Loves shall meet your Eye, 
 
 And tallest Mirrors reaching to the Floor, 
 
 Shall shew you all the Object I adore ; 
 
 Who, by the Hands of Wealth and Fasliion drest, 
 
 By Slaves attended and by Friends carcst, 
 
 Shall move, a Wonder, through the public ways, 
 
 And hear the Whispers of adoring Praise. 
 
 Your Female Friends, though gayest of the Gay, 
 
 Shall see you happy and shall, sighing, say, 
 
 While smothcr'd Envy rises in the Breast, — 
 
 ' Oh ! that we liv'd so beauteous and so blest !' 
 
 " Come then, my Mistress and my Wife; for she 
 
 Who trusts my Honour is the Wife for me ; 
 
 Your Slave, your Husband, and your Friend employ, 
 
 In search of Pleasures we may both enjoj'." — 
 
 To this the Damsel, meekly firm, replied : 
 
 My Mother lov'd, was married, toil'd and died ;
 
 9^ 
 
 *- With Joys, she'd Griefs, had Troubles in her course, 
 
 * But not one Grief was pointed by Remorse ; 
 
 ' My Mind is fix'd, to Ilcav'n I resign, 
 
 ' And be her Love, her Life, her Comforts mine.' 
 
 Tyrants have wept ; and those with hearts of steel. 
 Who caus'd the Anguish they disdain'd to heal, 
 Have at some time, the Power of Virtue known, 
 And found the Joy they gave promote their own. 
 
 Our Knight relenting, now befriends the Youth, 
 Who took the Maid, with Innocence and Truth ; 
 And finds in that fair deed a sacred Joy, 
 That will not perish and that cannot cloy ; — 
 A living Joy, that shall its vigour keep, 
 When Beauty all decays, and all the Passions sleep.
 
 PART III. 
 
 BURIALS.
 
 AIIGUMLNT. 
 
 Trus Christian Resignation not Jrcqucntly to be seen. — The Re- 
 gister a melancholij Record. — A dying Man, xvho at length 
 xends for a Priest : for iduit Purpose ? answered. — Old 
 Collett, of the Inn, an instance of Dr. Young's sloiv-sudden 
 Death: his Character and Conduct — The Manners and Ma- 
 nagement of the ICidozv Goe : her successful Attention to Busi- 
 ness : her Decease unexpected. — The Infant-Boy of Gerard 
 Ablett dies: Reflections on his Death, and the Survivor his 
 Sistcr-Tzvin.'-The Funeral of the Deceased Lady of the Ma- 
 nor described : her neglected Mansion : Undertaker and 
 Train : the Character uhich her Monument will hereafter dis- 
 play. — Burial of an antient Maiden: some former Drawback 
 on her Virgin-fame: Description of Iter House and Household: 
 Her Manners, Apprehensions, Death. — Isaac Ashford, a 
 virtuous Peasant, dies: his manly Character: Reluctance to 
 enter the Poor-House ; and why. — Misfortune and Derange- 
 ment of Intellect in Robin Dingley : whence they proceeded : 
 He is not restrained by Misery from, a wandering Life : his 
 various Returns to his Parish : his final Return. — IVife of Far- 
 mer Frankford, dies in prime of Lfc : Affliction in conse- 
 quence of such Death : melancholy View of Iier House, Sfc. 
 on her Family's Return from her Funeral : Address to Sorrow. — 
 Leah Cousins, a Midwife: her Character ; and succes.'ful Prac- 
 tice : at length opposed by Doctor Glib: Opposition in the 
 Parish: Argument (f the Doctor; of Leah; her Failure and 
 Decease. — Burial of Roger Cuff, a Sailor : his Enmity to his 
 Family; how it originated : his Experiment, and its conse- 
 quence. — The Register terminates. — A Bell heard : Inquiry for 
 whom ? The Sexton. — Character of Old Dibble, and the five 
 Rectors whom he served. — Reflections, — Conclusion.
 
 THE 
 
 PARISH REGISTER. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 Qui vultus Acherontis atri. 
 
 Qui Stygia tristem, non tristis, videt, — 
 
 Par ille"Regi, par Superis erit. 
 
 Seneca in Agamem. 
 
 JL HERE wasj 'tis said, and I believe, a Time, 
 When humble Christians died with views sublime j 
 When all were ready for their Faith to bleed, 
 But few to write or wrangle for their Creed ; 
 When lively Faith upheld the sinking Hearty 
 And Friends, assur'd to meet, prepar'd to part ; 
 When Love felt Hope, when Sorrow grew serene^ 
 And all was comfort in the Death-bed scene. 
 
 H
 
 98 
 
 Alas ! when now the gloomy King they wait, 
 'Tis Weakness yielding to resistless Fate ; 
 Like wretched Men upon the Ocean cast, 
 They labour hard and struggle to the last ; 
 " Hope against Hope," and wildly gaze around, 
 In search of Help that never shall be found ; 
 Nor, till the last strong Billow stops the Breath, 
 Will they believe thera in the ja^vs of Death ! 
 
 When these my Records I reflecting read, 
 And find what Ills these numerous Births succeed ; 
 What powerful Griefs these Nuptial Ties attend, 
 With what regret these painful Journeys end ; 
 When from the Cradle to the Grave I look, 
 Mine I conceive a melancholy Book. 
 
 Where now is perfect Resignation seen ? 
 
 Alas ! it is not on the Village-Green ; 
 
 I 've seldom known, though I have often read 
 
 Of, happy Peasants on their Dying-bed ; 
 
 Whose Looks proclaim'd that Sunshine of the Breast. 
 
 That more than Hope, that Heav'n itself express'd. 
 
 V/hat I behold are feverish fits of Strife, 
 'Twixt fears of Dying and desire of Life ; 
 Those earthly Hopes, that to the last endure ; 
 Those Feats, that Hopes superior fail to cure ; 
 At best a sad submission to the Doom, 
 Which, turning from the Danger, lets it come.
 
 99 
 
 Sick lies (he Man, bewilder'd, lost, afraid, 
 His Spirits vanquish 'd and his Strength decay'd ; 
 No Hope the Friend, the Nurse, the Doctor lend — 
 *' Call tlien a Priest and fit him for his End." 
 A Priest is call'd, 'tis now, alas ! too late, 
 Death enters with him at the Cottage-gate ; 
 Or Time allow'd — he goes, assured to find, 
 The self-commending, all-confiding Mind ; 
 And sighs to hear what we may justly call, 
 Death's Common-Place^ the Train of Thought in all. 
 
 " True, I'm a Sinner," feebly he begins. — 
 " But trust in Mercy to forgive my Sins :" 
 (Such cool Confession no past Crimes excite ! 
 Such Claim on Mercy, as a Sinner's Right !) 
 " I know, Mankind are frail, that Gon is just, 
 ^' And pardons those who in his Mercy trust ; 
 " We're sorely tempted in a World like this, 
 '^ All Men have done, and I like all, amiss ; 
 *' But now, if spar'd, it is my full intent, 
 '* On all the past to ponder and repent ; 
 ** Wrongs against me I pardon great and smalL 
 " And if 1 die, I die in peace with all." 
 
 His Merits thus and not his Sins confest, 
 He speaks his Hopes and leaves to H^av'n the rest- 
 Alas ! are these the Prospects, dull and cold, 
 That dying Christians to their Priests unfold ? 
 
 II 2
 
 100 
 
 Or meiicls the Prospect Avhcii th' Enthusiast cries, 
 " I die assured !" and in a Rapture dies ? 
 
 Ab, \vl)cre that humble, self-abasing Mind, 
 Witli that confiding Spirit shall we find ; 
 The Mind that feeling what Repentance brings, 
 Dejection's terrors and Contrition's stings. 
 Has then the hope that Heav'n its grief approve 
 And the pure joy that flows from Pardoning Love ? 
 
 Such have I seen in Death, and mucli deplore, 
 So many dying — that I see no more: 
 Lo ! now my Records, where I grieve to trace, 
 How Death has triumph'd in so short a space; 
 Who are the Dead, how died they, I relate, 
 And snatch some portion of their Acts from Fate. 
 
 With AndrciC Collet we tlie ^'car begin, 
 The blind, fat Landlord of tlic Old Crown-Inn : 
 Big as his Butt and for tlie self-same use, 
 To take in stores of strong fermenting Juice. 
 On his huge Chair beside the Fire he sate, 
 In Revel Chief, and Umpire in Debate ; 
 Each night his string of vulgar Tales he told,' 
 When Ale was cheap and Cachelors were bold ; 
 His Heroes all were famous in their Days, 
 Cheats were his l)oast and Drunkards had his praise;
 
 101 
 
 *• One ill three Draughts, three Mugs of Ale took doun, 
 
 ^' As Mugs were then — the Champion of the Crown ; 
 
 '* For thrice three days another liv'd on Ale, 
 
 " And knew no Change but that of Mikl and Stale ; 
 
 " Two thirsty Soakers watch 'd a Vessel's side, 
 
 '* When he the Tap, with dextrous hand, applied ; 
 
 *' Nor from their seals departed, till tliey found, 
 
 " That Butt was out and heard the mournful Sound." 
 
 He prais'd a Poacher, precious child of Fun ! 
 Who shot the Keeper with his own Spring-gun ; 
 Nor less the Smuggler who the Exciseman tied, 
 And left him hanging at the Bircli-wood side, 
 There to expire; — but one who saw him hang, 
 Cut the good Cord — a Traitor of the Gang. 
 
 His own Exploits, with boastful glee, he told, 
 What Ponds he empty'd and what Pikes he sold ; 
 And how, when blest with sight alert and gay. 
 The Night's Amusements kept him through the Day. 
 
 He sang the Praises of those Times, when all 
 " For Cards and Dice, as for their Drink, might call ; 
 '' When Justice wink'd on every jovial Crew, 
 " And Ten-pins tumbled in the Parson's view." 
 
 He told, whQu angry Wives, provok'd to rail, 
 Or drive a third-day Drunkard from his Ale; 
 What were his Triumphs and how great the Skill, 
 That won tlic vcx'd Vira<ro to his Will:
 
 102 
 
 Who raving came ; — then talk'd in milder strain, — 
 Then wept, — then drank and pledg'd her Spouse again. 
 
 Such were his Themes : how Knaves o'er Laws prevail, 
 Or when made cnptives, how they fly from Jail ; 
 The Young how brave, iiow subtle were the Old : 
 And Oaths attested all that Folly told. 
 
 On Death like his what name shall we bestow, 
 So very sudden ! yet so very slow ? 
 'Twas slow : — Disease augmenting year by year, 
 Show'd the grim King by gradual steps brought near : 
 'Twas not less sudden ; — in the night he di«l, 
 He drank, he swore, he jested and he lied ; 
 
 Thus aiding Folly with departing Breath : 
 
 *' Beware, Lorenzo^ the slow-sudden Death.'' 
 
 Next died the Widow Goe, an active Dame, 
 Fam'd, ten miles round, and worthy all her Fame; 
 She, lost her Husband when their Loves were young, 
 But kept her Farm, her Credit and her Tongue : 
 Full thirty years, she rul'd with matchless Skill, 
 Wi(h guiding Judgment and resistless Will; 
 Advice she scorn'd. Rebellions she suppress'd. 
 And Sons and Servants bow'd at her behest. 
 Like that great man's, who to his Saviour came, 
 Were the strong Words of this commanding Dame ; —
 
 ],06 
 
 '' Come/' if slie said, they came ; if " go," were gone ; 
 
 And if** do this,"— tliat instant it was done : 
 
 Her Maidens told she was all Eye and Ear, 
 
 In Darkness saw and could at distance hear ; — 
 
 No Parish-iBusiness in the Place could stir, 
 
 Without Direction or Assent from her ; 
 
 In turn she took each Office as it fell ; 
 
 Knew all their Duties and discharg'd them well ; 
 
 The lazy Vagrants in her presence shook, 
 
 And pregnant Damsels fear'd her stern Rebuke; 
 
 She look'd on Want, with Judgment, clear and cool, 
 
 And felt with Reason and bcstow'd by Rule : 
 
 She match'd both Sons and Daughters to her mind, 
 
 And lent them Eyes, for Love, she heard, was blind ; 
 
 Yet ceaseless still she throve, alert, alive. 
 
 The working Bee, in full or empty Hive; ' 
 
 Busy and careful, like that working Bee, 
 
 No time for Love nor tender Cares had she ; 
 
 But when our Farmers made their amorous Vows, 
 
 She talk'd of Market-Steeds and Patent-Ploughs. 
 
 Not unemploy'd her Evenings pass'd away. 
 
 Amusement clos'd, as Business wak'd the Day; 
 
 When to her Toilet's brief Concern she ran, 
 
 And conversation with her Friends, began ; 
 
 Who all were welcome at her Board to sliare. 
 
 And joyous Neighbours prais'd her Christmas Fare;
 
 104 
 
 That none around might, in their scorn, complain 
 Of Gossip Goe as greedy in her Gain. 
 
 Thus loni; she reisrn'd, admir'd, if not approv'd ; 
 Prais'd, if not honour'd ; fear'd, if not belov'd ; — 
 When, as the busy Days of Spring drew near, 
 That call'd for all the Forecast of the Year ; 
 When lively Hope the rising Crops survey'd, 
 And April proinis'd what September pay'd ; 
 When stray'd her Lambs where Gorse and Greenxseed 
 
 grow; 
 When rose her Grass in richer Vales below ; 
 When pleas'd she look'd on all the smiling Land, n 
 And view'd the Hinds, who wrought at her command, > 
 As Bridget churn'd the Butter for her Hand ; -^ 
 
 (Gccse, Hens, and Turkeys following where she went ;) 
 Then, Dread o'ercame her, — that her Days were spent.* 
 
 " Bless me I I die and not a Warning giv^n,— 
 " AVith rmich to do on Earth and all for Heav'n ! 
 " No Reparation for my Soul's Affairs, 
 *' No Leave petition 'd for the Barn's Repairs ; 
 *' Accounts perplex'd, my Interest yet unpaid, 
 " My Mind unsettled and my Will unmade ; — 
 " A Lawyer haste, and in your way, a Priest; 
 *' And let me die in one good Work at least." 
 She spake and, trembling, dropped upon her knees, 
 Heaven in her Eye and in her Hand her Keys:
 
 105 
 
 An-:! still tlie more slie found her Life decay, 
 With greater force she grasp'd those Sii^ns of Sway: 
 Then fell and died ! .... la haste her vSons drew near, 
 And dropp'd, in hastf, the tributary Tear, 
 Then from th' adhering:; Clasp the Keys unbound. 
 And Consolation for their ?^orro-ivs, found. 
 
 Death has his Infant-train ; his bon}' Ann 
 Strikes from the Baby-cheek the rosy Charm ; 
 The brightest Eye his glazing Film makes dim. 
 And his cold Touch sets fast the lithest limb: 
 He seiz'd the sick'ning Boy to Gerard lent,* 
 When three Days' Life, in feeble Cries, were spent : 
 In Pain brought forth, those painful Hours to stay, 
 To breathe in Pain and sigh its Soul away ! 
 
 " But why thus lent, if thus recall'd again, 
 " To cause and feel, to live and die in, Pain ?" 
 Or rather say. Why grievous these appear. 
 If all it pays for Heaven's eternal Year ; 
 If tliese sad Sobs and piteous Sighs secure 
 Delights that live, when Worlds no more endure ? 
 
 The Sister-spirit long may lodge below, 
 And Pains from Nature, Pains from Reason, know 
 Tlirough all the common Ills of Life may run, 
 By Hope perverted and by Love undone ; 
 
 * See pagt- j2.
 
 lOG 
 
 \ Wife's Distress, a Mother's Pangs, may dread, 
 And Widow-tears, in bitter Anguish, shed ; 
 May at Old Age arrive through numerous Harms, 
 W ilh Children's Children in those feeble Arms; 
 Nor till by Years of Want and Grief opprest, 
 Shall the sad Spirit flee and be at rest ! 
 
 Yet happier therefore shall we deem the Boy, 
 Secur'd from anxious Care and dangerous Joy ? 
 
 Not so ! for then would Love Divine, in vain 
 Send all the Burthens, weary Men sustain ; 
 All that now curb the Passions when they rage, 
 The Checks of Youth and the Regrets of Age; 
 All that now bid us hope, believe, endure, 
 Our Sorrow's Comfort and our Vice's Cure; 
 All that for Heaven's high Joys the Spirits train, 
 And Charity, the Crown of all, were vain. 
 
 Blest is the Nurseling never taught to sing, 
 But thrust untimely from its Mother's Wing; 
 Or the grown Warbler, who, with grateful Voice, 
 Sings its own Joy and makes tlie Grove rejoice ; 
 Because, ere yet he cliarm'd th' attentive Ear, 
 Hard were his Trials and his Pains severe ! 
 
 Next died the Lady who yon Hall possess'd ; 
 •Ind here they brought her noble Bones to rest.
 
 107 
 
 111 Town sbe dwelt; — forsaken stood tlie Hall. 
 Worms ate tlic Floors, the Tap'stry fled llic Wall : 
 No Fire the Kitchen's cheerless Grate display'd; 
 No cheerful Light the loiig-clos'd Sash convey'd! 
 The crawling Worm that turns a Summer-fly, 
 Here spun his Shroud and laid him up to die 
 The Winter-death: — upon the Bed of Stale, 
 The Batt shrill-shrieking woo'd his flickering Mate; 
 To empty Rooms the Curious came no more, 
 From empty Cellars turn'd the angry Poor, 
 And surly Beggars curs'd the ever-bolted Door. 
 To one small Room the Steward found his way, 
 Where Tenants follow'd to complain and pay; 
 Yet no complaint before the Lady came, 
 The feeling Servant spared the feeble Dame ; 
 Who saw her Farms with his observing Eyes, 
 And answer'd all Requests with his Replies:—- 
 She came not down, her falling Groves to view; 
 Why should she know, what One so faithful knew? 
 Why come, from many clamorous Tongues to hear, 
 What One so just might whisper in her Ear ? 
 Her Oaks or Acres, why with care explore; 
 Why learn the Wants, the Sufferings of the Poor; 
 When One so knowing all their Worth could trace> 
 And One so piteous govern'd in her Place ?
 
 108 
 
 Lo ! now, Avliat dismal Sons of Darkness come, 
 To bear tliis Daus^htcr of Indulgence home; 
 Trailed ians all and well arranged in Black! 
 Who Nature, Feeling, Force, Expression lack ; — - 
 Who cause no Tear, but gloomily pass by, 
 And shake their Sables in the wearied Eye, 
 That turns disgusted from the pompous Scene, 
 Proud without Grandeur, with Profusion, mean I 
 The Tear for Kindness past Affection owes ; 
 For Worth dcccas'd the Sigh from Reason flows; 
 F/cn wcU-feign'd Passion for our Sorrows call, 
 And real Tears for mimic Miseries full : — 
 But this poor Farce has neitlier Truth nor Art, 
 To please the Fancy or to touch the Heart ; 
 Unlike the Darkness of the Sky, that pours 
 On the dry Ground its fertilizing Showers ! 
 Unlike to that which strikes the Soul with dread, 
 When Thunders roar and forky Fires are shed ; 
 Dark but not awefid, dismal but yet mean. 
 With anxious Bustle moves the cumbrous Scene ; 
 Presents no O'ojects, tender or profound, 
 But spreads its cold unmeaning Gloom around. 
 
 When Woes are feign'd, how ill such forms appcan 
 And oh ! how needless, when the Woe 's sincere. 
 
 Slow to the Vault tliey come with heavy tread. 
 Bending beneatli tiic Lari// and lier Lead;
 
 109 
 
 A Case of Elm surrounds tliat ponderous Chest, 
 Close on that Case the Crimson Velvet 's press 'd ; 
 Uni^enerous this, that to the Worm denies, 
 With niggard-caution his appointed Prize ; 
 For now, ere yet he works his tedious way. 
 Through Cloth and Wood and Metal to his Prey ; 
 That Prey dissolving shall a Mass remain, 
 That Fancy loaths and Worms themselves disdain. 
 
 But see! the Master-Mourner makes his way, 
 To end his Office for the coffin'd Clay ; 
 Pleas'd that our Rustic Men and Maids behold 
 His Plate like Silver, and his Studds like Gold : 
 As they approach to spell the Age, the Name. 
 And all the Titles of tli' illustrious Dame. — 
 This as (my Duty done) some Scholar read, 
 A Village-Father look'd disdain and said : 
 *' Away, my Friends ! why take such pains to know, 
 " What some brave Marble soon in Church shall show 
 *' Where not alone her gracious Name shall stand, 
 " But how she liv'd the Blessing of the Laud ; 
 *' How much we all deplor'd the noble Dead, 
 " What Groans we utter'd and what Tears we shed : 
 " Tears, true as those, v/hich in the sleepy Eyes 
 " Of weeping Cherubs on the Stone shall ri.?e: 
 " Tears, true as those, which, ere she found her Grave. 
 ^' The noble Lady to our Sorrows gave."™
 
 I 
 
 110 
 
 Down by the Church-\^'ay«Walk and "wTi^e (he Brook 
 Winds round the Chancel like a Shepherd's Crook; 
 In that small House, with those green Pales before, 
 Where Jasmine trails on either side the Door ; 
 Where those dark Shrubs that now grow wild at will, 
 Were dipt in form and tantaliz'd with skill ; 
 Where Cockles blanch'd and Pebbles neatly spread, 
 Form'd shining Borders for the Larkspurs' Bed ; — 
 There livM a Ladi/, wise, austere and nice, 
 Who shew'd her Virtue by her Scorn of Vice; 
 In the dear Fashions of her Youth she dress'd, 
 A pea-green Joseph was her favourite Vest ; 
 Erect she stood, she walk'd with stately Mien, 
 Tight was her length of Stays and she was tall and lean. 
 
 There long she liv'd in Maiden-state immur*d, 
 rrom Looks of Love and treacherous Man secur'd : 
 Though Evil-fame — (but that was long before) 
 Had blown her dubious Blast at Catharine^ Door : 
 A Captain thither, rich from India came, 
 And though a Cousm call'd, it loucli'd her Fame ; 
 Her annual Stipend rose from his Behest, 
 And all the long-priz'd Treasures, she possess 'd : — 
 If aught like Joy a while appear'd to stay, 
 In that stem Face and chase those Frowns away ; 
 'Twas when her Treasures she dispos'd for view, 
 And heard the Praises, to their Splendour due ;
 
 Ill 
 
 Silks beyond Price, so rich tliey M stand alone, 
 And Diamonds blazing on the buckled Zone ; 
 Rows of rare Pearls by curious Workmen set, 
 And Bracelets fair in Box of a:lossy Jet ; 
 Bright polish'd Amber precious from its Size, 
 Or forms, the fairest Fancy could devise ; 
 Her Drawers of Cedar shut with secret Springs, 
 Conceal'd the Watch of Gold and rubied Rings ; 
 Letters, long Proofs of Love and Verses fine 
 Round the pink'd Rims of crisped Valentine. 
 Her China-Closet, cause of daily Care, 
 For Woman's Wonder held her pencill'd Ware ; 
 That pictur'd Wealth of China and Japan, 
 Like its cold Mistress, shunn'd the Eye of Man. 
 
 Her neat small Room, adorn'd with Maiden-taste, 
 A dipt French-Puppey first of Favourites grac'd. 
 A Parrot next, but dead and stufF'd with Art ; 
 (For Poll, when living, lost the Lady's Heart, 
 And then his Life ; for he was heard to speak 
 Such frightful Words as iinge'd his Lady's Cheek ;> 
 Unhappy Bird ! Avho had no power to prove. 
 Save by such Speecli, his Gratitude and Love. 
 A grey old Cat his Whiskers lick'd beside ; 
 A type of Sadness in the House of Pride. 
 The polish'd Surface of an India-Clitst, 
 A glassy Globe, in Frame of Ivory, presl ;
 
 111^ 
 
 'U'lierc swam two finny Creatures ; one of GoIcJ^ 
 
 Of Silver one ; both beauteous to behold : 
 
 All these were forni'd the guiding Taste to suit; 
 
 The Beasts ■well-nianuer'd and the Fishes mute. 
 
 A widow 'd Aunt was there, compell'd by Need, 
 
 The Nymph to tlatter and her Tribe to feed ; 
 
 Who, veiling well her Scorn, cndur'd the Clog, 
 
 Mute as the Fish and fawning as the Dog. 
 
 As Years increased, these Treasures her Delight, 
 
 Arose in Value in their Owner's sight : — 
 
 A Miser knows that, view it as he will, 
 
 A Guinea kept is but a Guinea still: 
 
 And so he puts it to its proper Use, 
 
 That something more this Guinea may produce : 
 
 But Silks and Rings in the Possessor's Eyes," 
 
 Tiic oft'ner seen, the more in Value rise. 
 
 And thus are wisely hoarded to bestow. 
 
 On Pride that governs. Pleasure that will grow. 
 
 But what avail'd their Worth,— if ^^'orth had they,— 
 
 In the sad Summer of her slow Decay ? 
 
 Then we beheld her turn an anxious Look 
 From Trunks and Chests, and fix it on her Book; 
 A rich-bound Book of Prayer the Captain gave, 
 (Some Princess had it, or was said to have,) 
 And then once more on all her Stores, look round 
 And draw a sigh so piteous and profound.
 
 113 
 
 That told, *' Alas ! liow hard from these to part, 
 *' And for new Hopes and Habits form the Heart ! 
 *' What shall I do (she cried) ray Peace of Mind, 
 " To gain in dying and to die resign'd ?" 
 
 * Hear,' we return'd ; — ' these Bawbles cast aside, 
 ' Nor give thy God a Rival in tliy Pride ; 
 ' Thy Closets shut and ope thy Kitchen's Door; 
 ' There own thy Failings, here invite the Poor ; 
 
 * A friend of Mammon let thy Bounty make, 
 
 * For Widow's Prayers, thy Vanities forsake ; 
 ' And let the Hungry of thy Pride, partake : 
 
 * Then shall thy inward Eye with joy survey, 
 
 ' The Angel Mercy tempering Deatli's Delay!' 
 
 Alas ! 'twas hard ; the Treasures still had Charms, 
 Hope still its Flattery, Sickness its Alarms ; 
 Still was the same unsettled, clouded View, 
 And the same plaintive Cry, " What shall I do ?" 
 
 Nor Change appear'd : for, when her Race was run 
 Doubtful we all exclaim'd, " What has been done ?" 
 
 Apart she liv'd and still she lies alone; 
 Yon earthly Heap awaits the flattering Stone, 
 On which Invention shall be long employ'd 
 To shew the various Worth of Catharine Lloyd- 
 
 Next to these Ladies, but in nought allied, 
 A noble Peasant, Isaac Ashford^ died. 
 
 I 
 
 \
 
 114 
 
 Noble he was, contemning all things mean, 
 
 His Trutli ujiquestion'd and his Sonl serene: 
 
 Of no man's presence Isaac felt afraid ; 
 
 At no Man's question, Isaac look'd dismay 'd : 
 
 Shame knew him not, he drcatlcd no Disgrace; 
 
 Truth, simple Truth, was written in his Face ; 
 
 Yet while ^he serious Thought his Soul approv'd, 
 
 Cheerful he $eera'd and Gentleness he lov'd : 
 
 To Bliss domestic he his Heart resign'd, 
 
 And with the firmest, had tiie fondest Mind : 
 
 "W^ere others joyful, he look'd smiling on, 
 
 And gave Allowance where he needed none ; 
 
 Good he refus'd with future III to buy, 
 
 Nor knew a Joy that caus'd Reflection's Sigh ; 
 
 A Friend to Virtue, his unclouded Breast 
 
 No Envy stung, no Jealousy distress'd ; 
 
 (Bane of the Poor ! it wounds their weaker Mind, 
 
 To miss one Favour, which their Neighbours find:) 
 
 Yet far was Ue from Stoic-pride remov'd ; 
 
 He felt humanely, and he warmly lov'd : 
 
 I mark'd his Action, when his Infant died. 
 
 And his old Neighbour for Offence was tried ; 
 
 The still Tears, stealing down that furrow'd Cheek, 
 
 Spoke Pity, plainer than the Tongue can speak. 
 
 If Pride were his, 'twas not their vulgar Pride, 
 
 Who, in their base Contempt, the Great deride ;
 
 115 
 
 Nor Pride in Learning, though my Clerk agreed, 
 
 If Fate should call him, Ashford might succeed ; 
 
 Nor Pride in Rustic-skill, although we knew> 
 
 None his Superior, and his Equals, few : 
 
 But if that Spirit in his Soul had place, 
 
 It was the jealous Pride that shuns Disgrace; 
 
 A Pride in honest Fame, by Virtue gain'd, 
 
 In sturdy Boys to yirtuous Labours train'd ; 
 
 Pride, in the Power that guards his Country's Coast, 
 
 And all that Englishmen enjoy and boast ; 
 
 Pride, in a Life that Slander's Tongue defy'd, 
 
 In fact, a noble Passion, misnara'd Pride. 
 
 He had no party's Rage, no Sect'ry's Whim ; 
 Christian and Countryman was all with him : 
 True to his Church he came ; no Sunday-Shower, 
 Kept him at home in that important Hour ; 
 Nor his firm Feet could one persuading Sect, 
 By the strong glare of their new Light direct ; 
 " On hope, in mine own sober Light, I gaze, 
 " But should be blind and lose it, in your Blaze." 
 
 In Times severe, when many a sturdy Swain, 
 Felt it his Pride, his Comfort, to complain; 
 Isaac their Wants would soothe, his own would hide, 
 And feel in that, his Comfort and his Pride. 
 
 At length, he found, when Seventy Years were ran, 
 His Strength departed and his Labour done; 
 
 12
 
 116 
 
 Wlicn, save his honest Fume, he kept no more ; 
 But lost his Wife and saw his Chihlren poor; 
 'Twas then, a Spark of — say not Discontent — 
 Struck on his Mind and thus he gave it vent : — 
 
 " Kind are your Laws, ('tis not to be denied,) 
 '•' That in yon House, for ruin'd Age, provide, 
 " And they are just; — when young, we give you all, 
 '* And then for Comforts in our Weakness call. — 
 *' Why then this proud Reluctance to be fed, 
 '' To join your Poor and eat the Parish-Bread ? 
 ^' But yet I linger, loatli with him to feed, 
 " Who gains his Plenty by the Sons of Need ; 
 ^^ He who, by Contract, all your Paupers took, 
 *' And s'uao'es Stomachs with an anxious Look : 
 " On some old Master 1 could well depend ; 
 *' See him with joy and thank him as a Friend ; 
 *' But ill on him, who doles the Day's Supply, 
 " And counts our Chances, who at Night may die : 
 *■' Yet help me Heav'n ! and let me not complain 
 '^ Of what Ijefalls me, but the fate sustain." 
 
 Such were liLs Thoughts, and so resign'd he grew; 
 Daily he plac'd the Workhouse in his view ! 
 But came not there, for sudden was his Fate, 
 He dropp'd expiring, at Iiis Cottage-gate. 
 
 I feel his Absence in tlie Hours of Prayer, 
 And view his Seal and sigh for Isaac there;
 
 117 
 
 I see no more those white Locks thinly spread, 
 Round the bald Polish of that honour'd Head ; 
 No more that aweful Glance on playful Wight 
 CompcU'd to kneel and tremble at the sight ; 
 To fold his Fingers all in dread the while, 
 Till Mister Ashford soften'd to a Smile ; 
 No more that meek and suppliant Look in Prayer, 
 Nor the pure Faith (to give it force) are there : ^-- 
 But he is blest and I lament no more, 
 A wise good Man contented to be poor. 
 
 Then died a Rambler ; not the One who sails 
 And trucks, for Female Favours, Beads and Nails 5 
 Not One, who posts from place to place — of Men 
 And Manners treating with a flying Pen : 
 Not he, who climbs, for Prospects, Snowden's Heightj 
 And chides the Clouds that intercept the Sight ; 
 No curious Shell, rare Plant or brilliant Spar, 
 Intic'd our Traveller, from his Home, so far ; 
 But all the Reason, by himself assign'd 
 For so much Rambling, was, a restless Mind ; 
 As on, from place to place, without intent. 
 Without Reflection, Robin Dinglei/ went. 
 
 Not thus by Nature : — never Man was found 
 Less prone to wander from his Parish-bound ;
 
 118 
 
 Claudian\ old Man, ia whom all Scenes were new, 
 Save those where he and where his Apples grew, 
 Resembled Robw, who around would look, 
 And his Horizon, for the Earth's mistook. 
 
 To this poor Swain a keen Attorney came; — 
 *' I give thee joy, good Fellow ! on thy Name ; 
 '' The rich old Dinglej/^s dead; — no Child has he, 
 " Nor Wife nor Will ; his all is left for thee ; 
 *' To be his Fortune's Heir thy Claim is good ; 
 " Thou hast the Name and we will prove the Blood." 
 
 The Claim was made; 'twas tried, it would not stand j 
 They prov'd the Blood, but were refus'd the Land. 
 
 Assur'd of Wealth, this Man of simple Heart, 
 To every Friend bad predispos'd a Part ; 
 His Wife, had Hopes indulg'd of various kind ; 
 The three Miss Dingle^^s had their School assign'd, 
 Masters were sought for what each Miss requir'd. 
 And Books were bought and Harpsichords were hir'd ; 
 So high was Hope : — the Failure touch'd his Brain, 
 And Robin never was himself again : 
 Yet he no wrath, no angry wish express'd, 
 But tried in vain, to labour or to rest ; 
 Then cast his Bundle on his back, and went 
 He knew not whither nor for what Intent. 
 
 Years fled ; — of Robin all Remembrance past, 
 When home he wander'd in his Rags at last :
 
 119 
 
 A Sailor's Jacket on his Limbs was thrown, 
 
 A Sailor's Story he had made his own ; 
 
 Had sufFer'd Battles, Prisons, Tempests, Storms, 
 
 Encountering Death in all his ugliest forms ; 
 
 His Cheeks were hagg-atd, hollow was his Eye, 
 
 Where Madness lark'd, conceal'd in Misery ; 
 
 Want, and th' ungentle World, had taught a part. 
 
 And prompted Cunning to that simple Heart : 
 
 " He now bethought him, he would roam no more, 
 
 " But live at Home and labour as before." 
 
 Here cloth'd and fed, no sooner he began 
 To round and redden, than away he ran : 
 His Wife was dead, their Children past his aid ; 
 So, unmolested from his Home he stray'd : 
 Six Years elasp'd, when, worn with Want and Pain, 
 Came Robin, wrapt in all his Rags, again : — 
 We chide, we pity ; — plac'd among our Poor, 
 He fed again and was a Man once more. 
 
 As when a gaunt and hungry Fox is found, 
 Entrapp'd alive in some rich Hunter's ground ; 
 Fed for the Field, although each Day's a Feast, 
 Fatten you may, but never tame the Beast ; 
 An House protects him, savoury Viands sustain ; 
 But loose his neck and off he goes again : 
 So stole our Vagrant from his warm Retreat, 
 To rove a Prowler and be deera'd a Cheat.
 
 120 
 
 Hard was his Fare : for, liini at length we saw, 
 in Cart convey'd and laid supine on Straw : 
 His feeble Voice now spoke a sinking Heart ; 
 His Groans now told the Motions of the Cart : 
 And thus he rose, but tried in vain to stand ; 
 Clos'd was his Eye and clench'd his clammy Hand ; 
 Life ebb'd apace and our best vVid, no more, 
 Could his weak Sense or dying Heart restore : — 
 But now he fell, a Victim to the Snare, 
 That vile Attorneys for the Weak prepare ; — 
 They who, when Profit or Resentment call, 
 Heed not the groaning Victim they enthrall. 
 
 Then died lamented, in the Strength of Life, 
 A valued Mother and a faithful Wife; 
 Call'd not away, when Time had loos'd each Hold 
 On the fond Heart and each Desire grew cold ; 
 But when, to all that knit us to our Kind, 
 She felt fast-bound, as Charity can bind ; — 
 Not when the Ills of Age, its Pain, its Care, 
 The drooping Spirit for its Fate prepare; 
 And, each Affection failing, leaves the Heart 
 Loos'd from Life's Charm and willing to depart , — 
 But ALL her Ties the strong Invader broke, 
 ,In all their Strength, by one tremendous Stroke!
 
 121 
 
 Sudden and swift the eager Pest came on, 
 And all was Terror, till all Hope was gone ; 
 Was silent Terror, where that Hope grew weak, 
 Look'd on the Sick and was ashara'd to speak. — 
 Slowly they bore, with solemn Step, the Dead ; 
 When Grief grew loud and bitter Tears were shed : 
 My Part began; a Crowd drew near the Place, 
 Awe in each Eye, Alarm in every Face : 
 So swift the 111 ! and of so fierce a kind, 
 That Fear with Pity, mingled in each Mind ; 
 Friends with the Husband came their Griefs to blend; 
 For Good-man Frankford was to all a Friend. 
 The last-born Boy they held above the Bier, 
 He knew not Grief, but Cries expressed his Fear; 
 Each different Age and Sex reveal'd its pain, 
 In now a louder, now a lower Strain ; 
 While the meek Father, listening to their Tones, 
 Swell'd the full Cadence of the Grief by Groans. 
 
 The elder Sister strove her Pangs to hide, 
 And soothing Words to 3'^ounger Minds applied : — 
 *' Be still, be patient," oft she strove to say; 
 J3ut fail'd as oft and weeping turn'd away. 
 
 Curious and sad, upon the fresh-dug Hill, 
 The Village-Lads stood melancholy still ; 
 And idle Children, wandering to-and-fro, 
 As Nature guided, took the tone of Woe.
 
 122 
 
 Arriv'd at Home, how then they gaz'd around, 
 In ev'ry place, where she — no more, was found; — 
 The Seat at Table, she was wont to fill ; 
 The Fire-side Chair, still set, but vacant still ; 
 The Garden-walks, a Labour all her own ; 
 The lattic'd Bower, with trailing Shrubs o'ergrown ; 
 The Sunday-pew, she fiU'd with ali her Race, 
 Each Place of hers, was now a sacred Place ; 
 That, while it call'd up Sorrows in the Eyes, 
 Pierc'd the full Heart, and forc'd them still to rise. 
 
 Oh sacred Sorrow ! by whom Souls are tried, 
 Sent not to punish Mortals but to guide ; 
 If Thou art mine, (and who shall proudly dare 
 To tell his Maker, he has had his Share ?) 
 Still let me feel for what thy Pangs are sent, 
 And be my Guide and not ray Punishment! 
 
 Of Leah Cousins next the Name appears, 
 With Honours crown'd and blest with Length of Years, 
 Save, that she liv'd to feel, in Life's Decay, 
 The Pleasure die, the Honours drop away : 
 A Matron she, whom every Village- Wife, 
 View'd as the Help and Guardian of her Life ; 
 Fathers and Sons indebted to her Aid, 
 Respect to her and her Profession pay'd ;
 
 123 
 
 Who in tlie House of Plenty largely fed, 
 Yet took her Station at the Pauper's Bed ; 
 Nor from that Duty could be brib'd again. 
 While fear or Danger urg'd her to remain ; 
 In her Experience all her Friends relied, 
 Heaven was her Help and Nature was her Guide. 
 
 Thus Leah liv'd ; long trusted, much caress'd, 
 Till a Town-Dame a youthful Farmer bless'd ; 
 A gay vain Bride, who would Example give. 
 To that poor Village where she deign'd to live : 
 Some few Months past, she sent in hour of Need, 
 For Doctor Glib^ who came with wondrous speed ; 
 Two days he waited, all his Art applied. 
 To save the Mother when her Infant died ; — 
 *' 'Twas well I came," at last he deign'd to say ; 
 *' Twas wondrous well ;" — and proudly rode away. 
 
 The News ran round ; — " How vast the Doctor's pow'r ! 
 '* He sav'd the Lady in the trying Hour ; 
 *' Sav'd her from Death, when she was dead to Hope, 
 ** And her fond Husband had resign'd her up : 
 *' So all, like her, may evil Fate defy, 
 *' If Doctor Glib^ with saving Hand, be nigh." 
 
 Fame (now his Friend), Fear, Novelty, and Whim, 
 And Fashion, sent the varying Sex to Him : 
 From this, Contention in the Village rose ; 
 And t1i€se^ the Dame espous'd; the Doctor those:
 
 124. 
 
 The ^yealtluer Part, to II im and Science went ; 
 With Luck and Leah the Poor rcmain'd content. 
 
 The Matron sigh'd; for she was vex'd at heart, 
 With so much Profit, so mnch Fame to part; — 
 " So long successful in my Art," she cried, 
 *' And this proud Man, so young and so untried !" 
 
 " Nay, but," he said, " and dare you trust your Wives, 
 " The Joy, the Pride, tlie Solace of your Lives, 
 " To One who acts and knows no Reason why, 
 '' But trusts, poor Hag!, to Luck for an Ally? — 
 " Who, on Experience, can her Claims advance, 
 " And own the Powers of Accident and Chance? 
 <^ A whining Dame, who prays in Danger's view, 
 " (A Proof she knows not, Aviiat beside to do;) 
 '' What's her Experience ? In the Time that's gone, 
 *' Blundering she wrought and still she blunders on : — 
 " And what is Nature ? One who acts in aid 
 *' Of Gossips half asleep, and half afraid : 
 " With such Allies I scorn my Fame to blend, 
 " Skill is my Luck and Courage is my Friend : 
 *' No Slave to Nature, 'tis my chief delight, 
 *' To win ray way and act in her despite: — 
 " Trust then my Art, that, in itself complete, 
 " Needs no Assistance and fears no Defeat." 
 
 Warm'd by her well-spic'd Ale and aiding Pipe. 
 The angry Matron grew for Contest ripe.
 
 125 
 
 *' Can you," she said, " ungrateful and unjust, 
 ** Before Experience, Ostentation trust ? 
 *' What is your Hazard, foolish Daughters, tell ? 
 *' If safe, you're certain ; if secure, you're well : 
 " That I have Luck must Friend and Foe confess, 
 " And what's good Judgement but a lucky Guess ? 
 *' He boasts but what he can do : — will you run 
 " From me, your Friend ! who all he boasts, have done? 
 *^ By proud and learned Words his Powers are known ; 
 " ^y healthy Boys and handsome Girls ray own : 
 *' Wives ! Fathers ! Children !, by my Help, you live ; 
 " Has this pale Doctor more than Life to give? 
 " No stunted Cripple hops, the Village round ; 
 '■^ Your Hands are active and your Heads are sound : 
 " My Lads are all your Fields and Flocks require ; 
 " My Lasses all those sturdy Lads admire : 
 " Can this proud Leech, with all his boasted Skilh 
 " Amend the Soul or Body, Wit or Will ? 
 " Does he, for Courts the Sons of Farmers frame, 
 *^ Or make the Daughter differ from the Dame ? 
 " Or, whom he brings into this World of Woe, 
 " Prepares he them their Part to undergo ? 
 " If not, this Stranger from your Doors repel, 
 *' And be content to be and to be well.'* 
 
 She spake : but, ah ! with Words too strong and plain 
 Her Warmth offended and her Truth was vain .
 
 126 
 
 The many left her and the friendly few, 
 
 If never colder, yet they older ^rew ; 
 
 Till, unemploy'd, she felt her Spirits droop, 
 
 And took, insidious Aid !, th* inspiring Cup; 
 
 Grew poor and peevish as her Powers decay 'd, 
 
 And propp*d the tottering Frame with stronger Aid, — 
 
 Then died ! — I saw our careful Swains convey, 
 
 From (his our changeful World the Matron's Clay, 
 
 Who to (his World, at least, with equal Care, 
 
 Brought them its Changes, Good and J II to share. 
 
 Now io his Grave, was Roger Cujf convey'd, 
 And strong Resentment's lingering Spirit laid. 
 Shipwreck'd in Youth, he home return'd and found, 
 His Brethren three, — and thrice they wish'd him drown'd. 
 *' Is this a Landman's Love ? Be certain then, 
 " We part for ever !" — and they cried, * Amen !' 
 
 His Words were Truth's : — Some forty Summers fled, 
 His Brethren died ; his Kin suppos'd him dead : 
 Three Nephews these, one sprightly Niece, and one, 
 Less near in Blood ; they call'd him surJi/ John ; 
 He work'd in Woods apart from all his Kind, 
 Fierce were liis Looks and moody was his Mind. 
 
 For Home, the Sailor now began to sigh ; — 
 *' The Dogs are dead and I'll return and die ; 
 *' When all I have, my Gains, in Years of Care, 
 " The younger Cujfs will) kinder Souls shall share ; —
 
 127 
 
 " Yet hold ! I'm rich ; — with one consent they'll say, 
 " * You're welcome, Uncle, as the Flowers in May.' 
 " No ; I'll disguise me, be in Tatters dress'd, 
 " And best befriend the Lads who treat me best." 
 
 Now all his Kindred, — neither rich nor poor, 
 Kept the Wolf Want some distance from the Door. 
 
 In piteous plight he knock'd at George's Gate, 
 And begg'd for Aid, as he describ'd his State : --- 
 But stern was George : — * Let them who had thee Strong-, 
 
 * Help thee to drag thy weaken'd Frame along ; 
 
 * To us a Stranger, while your Limbs would move ; 
 
 * From us depart and try a Stranger's Love :" ■ 
 
 * Ha! do'st thou murmur?' — for, in .Rog-er's throat, 
 Was " Rascal! " rising with disdainful note. 
 
 To pious James he then his Prayer address'd ; — 
 
 * Good-lack,' quoth James^'^thy Sorrows pierce my breast; 
 ' And, had I Wealth, as have my Brethren twain, 
 
 ' One Board should feed us and one Roof contain : 
 
 ' But plead I will thy Cause and I will pray : 
 
 ' And so farewell ! Heaven help thee on thy Way !* 
 
 " Scoundrel !" said Roger, (but apart); — and told • 
 His Case to Peter ; — Peter too was cold : — 
 ' The Rates are high ; we have a-many Poor ; 
 ' But I will think, ' he said, and shut the Door. 
 
 Then the gay Niece, the seeming Pauper press'd ; — . 
 " Turn, Nancy, turn, and view this Form distrest ;
 
 128 
 
 " Akin lo thine is this declinini^ Frame, 
 " And this poor Beggar claims an Uncles. Name." 
 ' Avaunl ! l^egone ! (the courteous Maiden said,) 
 
 * Thoii vile Impostor ! Uncle Roger's dead ; 
 
 * I liate thee, Beast ! thy Look, my spirit shocks ; 
 
 * Oh ! that I saw thee starving in the Stocks !* 
 
 " ISIygentleNiece!"hesaid ; — and sough ttheWood. — 
 *' I hunger, fellow ; prithee, give me Food !" 
 * Give ! am I rich ? This Hatchet take and try 
 
 * Thy proper Strength, nor give those Limbs the lie ; 
 ' Work, feed thyself, to thine own Powers appeal, 
 
 * Nor whine out Woes, thine own Right-hand can heal t 
 ' And while that Hand is thine and tbine a Leg, 
 
 * Scorn^ of the Proud or of the Base to beg.' 
 
 " Gome, surly John, thy wealthy Kinsman view ;'* 
 (Old Roger said :) — " thy Words are 1)rave and true ; 
 " Come, live with me ; we'll vex those Scoundrel-Boys : 
 " And that prim Shrew shall, envying, hear our Joys." — 
 *' Tobacco's glorious Fume, all Day we '11 share, 
 " With Beef and Brandy kill all kinds of Care, 
 " We'll Beer and Biscuit on our Table heap, 
 *' And rail at Rascals, till we fall asleep." 
 
 Such was their Life : but when the Woodman died, 
 His grieving Kin for Roger's Smiles applied ;— 
 In vain ; he shut, with stern Rebuke, the Door, 
 And dying, built a Refuge for the Poor 3
 
 129 
 
 With this Restriction, That no Cuff should share 
 One Meal er shelter for one Moment there. 
 
 My Record ends : — But hark ! ev'n now I hear 
 The Bell of Death and know not whose to fear : 
 Our Farmers all and all our Hinds were well ; 
 In no Man's Cottage, Danger seem'd to dwell : — 
 Yet Death of Man proclaim these heavy Chimes, 
 For thrice they sound, with pausing space, three times. 
 
 " Go ; of my Sexton seek. Whose Days are sped ?'^ • 
 
 " What ! he, himself ! - - - and is old Dibble dead ?" 
 His Eightieth Year he reach'd, still undecay'd, 
 And Rectors five to one close Vault convey'd : -- - 
 But he is gone ; his Care and Skill I lose, 
 And gain a mournful Subject for my Muse : 
 His Masters lost, he 'd oft in turn deplore, 
 And kindly add, — * Heaven grant, I lose no more V 
 Yet while he spake, a sly and pleasant Glance 
 Appear'd at variance with his Complaisance : 
 For, as he told their Fate and varying Worth, 
 He archly look'd, — ' I yet may bear thee forth.' 
 
 " When first" — (he so began) — " my Trade I ply'd, 
 *^ Good Master Addle was the Parish-Guide ; 
 " His Clerk and Sexton, I beheld with fear 
 ** His Stride majestic and his Frown severe ; 
 *' A noble Pillar of the Church he stood, 
 " Adorn'd with College-gown and Parish-hood ; 
 
 K
 
 130 
 
 *^ Then, as lie p^cM the hallow'tl Aisles about, 
 
 *' He fill'd the sevenfold Surplice fairly out: 
 
 ^' But in his Pulpit wearied down with Prayer, 
 
 ** He sat and seem'd as in his Study's Chair ; 
 
 ** For while the Anthera swell'd and when it ceas'd, 
 
 *' Th' expecting People view'd their slumbering Priest ; — 
 
 " Who dozing, died. Our Parson Peek was next ; 
 
 ** ' I will not spare you,' was his favourite Text : 
 
 *' Nor did he spare, but rais'd them many a Pound ; 
 
 " Ev'n me he mulct for my poor Rood of Ground ; 
 
 ** Yet car'd he nought, but with a gibing Speech, 
 
 *' ' What should I do,' quoth he, * but what / preach :' 
 
 " His piercing Jokes (and he'd a plenteous store) 
 
 " Were daily ofFer'd both to Rich and Poor ; 
 
 ** His Scorn, his Love, in j)layful Words he spoke : 
 
 " His Pity, Praise, and Promise, were a Joke : 
 
 " But though so young and blest with spirits high, 
 
 " He died as grave as any Judge could die : 
 
 " The strong Attack subdu'd his lively Powers, — 
 
 ** His was the Grave and Doctor Grandspear ours." 
 
 " Then were there golden Times the Village round i 
 ** In his Abundance all appear'd t' abound ; 
 *' Liberal and rich, a plenteous Board he spread, 
 *^ Ev'n cool Dissenters at his Table fed ; 
 * * Who wish'd, — and hop'd, — and thought a Man sokind, 
 '' A Way to Heaven, though not their own, might find ;
 
 131 
 
 " To them, to all, be was polite and free, 
 *' Kind to the Poor, and, ah ! most kind to me : — 
 *' ' Ralph,* would he say, ' Ralph Dibble, thou art old; 
 «' « That Doublet fit, 'twill keep thee from the Cold : 
 *' ' How does my Sexton ?— Wiiat ! the Times are hard; 
 " ' Drive that stout Pig and pen him in thy Yard.' 
 " But most, his Reverence lov'd a mirthful Jest ; — 
 " ' Thy Coat is thin ; why, Man, thou'rt bareby drest; 
 " ' It 's worn to th' Thread ! but I have nappy Beer ; 
 " * Clap that within and see how they will wear.* 
 
 Gay Days were these ; but they were quickly past : 
 " When first he came, we found he cou'dn't last : 
 *' An whoreson Cough (and at the Fall of Leaf) 
 " Upset him quite: — but what's the Gain of Grief? 
 
 " Then came the A uthor- Rector ; his Delight 
 " Was all in Books ; to read them, or to write : 
 " Women and Men, he strove alike to shun, 
 *' And hurried homeward, when his Tasks were done; 
 " Courteous enough, but careless what he said, 
 " For Points of Learning he reserv'd his Head ; 
 " And when addressing either Poor or Rich, 
 " He knew no better than his Cassock which : 
 *' He, like an Osier, was of pliant kind, 
 " Erect by Nature, but to bend inclin'd ; 
 " Not like a Creeper falling to the ground, 
 *' Or meanly catching on the Neighbours round ; — 
 K 2
 
 152 
 
 " Careless was lie ot Siirpliee, Hootl, niul liand, — 
 
 " And kindly took (hem as they came to band ; 
 
 " Nor, like the Doctor, wore a World of Ilat, 
 
 " As if he sought for Dignity in that : 
 
 " He talfd, he gave, but not with cautious Rules : 
 
 '^ Nor tum'd from Gypsies, Vagabonds, or Fools ; 
 
 " It was his Nature, bui they thought it Whim, 
 
 " And so our Beaux and Beauties turn'd from him : 
 
 " Of Questions, much he wrote, profound and dark, — 
 
 " How spake the Serpent, and where stopp'd the Ark : 
 
 " Fvora what far Land the Queen of Sheba came ; 
 
 " Who Salem's Priest and what his Father's Name ; 
 
 " He made the Song of Songs its Mysteries yield, 
 
 " And Revelations to the Word, reveal'd. 
 
 " He sleeps i' the Aisle, - - - but not a Stone records 
 
 " His Name or Fame, his Actions or his Words : 
 
 " And truth, your Reverence, when I look around, 
 " And mark the Tombs in our Sepulchral Ground, 
 " (Though dare I not of one Man's Hope to doubt,) 
 " I 'd join the Party who repose without. 
 
 " Next carae a You(h frpra CdmbridgOf apd, in truth, 
 '' He was a sober and a comely Youth ; 
 '* He blush'd in Meekness as a modest Map, 
 " And gain'd Attention ere his Task began ; 
 '^ When preaching, seldom ventur'd on Reproof, 
 '' But touch'd his Neighbours tenderly enough.
 
 133 
 
 " Ilim, in his youth, a clamorous Sect assail'd, 
 " Advis'd atid censui'd, flatter'd, — and pievail'd. — 
 " Then did he much his sober Hearers vex, 
 *' Confound the Simple and the Siid perplex ; 
 " To a new Style his Reverence rashly took ; 
 " Loud grew his Voice, to Threat'ning swell'd his Look ; 
 " Above, below, on either side, he gaz'd, 
 " Amazing all and most himself amaz'd : 
 " No more he read his Preachments pure and plain, 
 *' But launch'd outright and rose and sank again : 
 " At times he smil'd in Scorn, at times he wept, -v 
 
 " And such sad Coil with Words of Vengeance kept, K 
 " That our best Sleepers startetl as they slept. ) 
 
 " ' Conviction comes like Lightning,' he would cry r 
 '^ 'In vain you seek it and in vain you fly ; 
 " ' 'Tis like the rushing of the mighty Wind, 
 " * Unseen its Progress, but its Power you find ; 
 " ' It strikes tlie Child ere yet its Reason wakes ; 
 " ' His Reason fled, the antient Sire it shakes ; 
 " * The proud, learn'd Man, and him who loves to know 
 " * How and from whence these Gusts of Grace will blow, 
 " * It shuns, — but Sinners in their Way impedes, 
 " * And Sots and Harlots visits in their Deeds ; 
 *' * Of Faith and Penance it supplies the place ; 
 *' ' Assures the vilest that they live by Grace, 
 " * And, without running, makes them win the Race.'
 
 134 
 
 ^' Such was the Doctrine our young Prophet taught ; 
 " And here Conviction, there Confusion wrought: 
 ** When his thin Cheek assum'd a deadly Hue, 
 " And all (he Rose to one small Spot withdrew : 
 " They call'd it hectic ; 'twas a fiery Flush, 
 " More fix'd and deeper than the maiden Blush ; 
 " His paler Lips the pearly Teeth disclos'd, 
 " And lab'ring Lungs the length'ning Speech oppos'd. 
 " No more his span-girth Shanks and quiv'ring Thighs, 
 " Upheld a Body of the smaller Size ; 
 " But down he sank upon his Dying-Bed, 
 " And gloomy Crotchets fill'd his wandering Head — 
 
 " ' Spite of my Faith, all-saving Faith, he cried, 
 " ' 1 fear of worldly works, the wicked Pride ; 
 " ' Poor as I am, degraded, abject, blind, 
 '^ ' The good I 've wrought still rankles in my Mind ; 
 " * My Alms-deeds all and every Deed I 'vc done, 
 " ' My Moral-rags defih; me every one; 
 " ' h should not be : — what say'st thou ? tell me, Ralph. 
 " Quoth I, * Your Reverence, J believe, you're safe; 
 '' " Your Faith 's your Prop, nor have you pass'd such 
 
 " ' Time, 
 '' * In Life's Good-works as swell them to a Crime.— 
 " ' If I of Pardon for my Sins were sure, 
 '* * About my Goodness I would rest secure.' 
 
 " Such WHS his End; and mine approaches fast; 
 '• I 'vc seen my best of Preachers, — and my last.'' —
 
 135 
 
 He bow'd, and archly smil'd at what he said, 
 Civil but sly : - - - - ' And is old Dibble dead ? * 
 
 Yes ! he is gone : and we are going all ; 
 Like Flowers we wither and like Leaves we fall : — 
 Here, with an Infant, joyful Sponsors come, 
 Then bear the new-made Christian to its Home : 
 A few short Years and we behold him stand 
 To ask a Blessing, with his Bride in hand : 
 A few, still seeming shorter, and we hear 
 His Widow weeping at her Husband's Bier : — - 
 Thus, as the Months succeed, shall Infants take 
 Their Names, while Parents them and us forsake ; 
 Thus Brides again and Bridegrooms blithe shall kneel, 
 By Love or Law compell'd their Vows to seal, 
 Ere I again or one like me, explore 
 These simple Annals of the Village Poor,
 
 THE 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 31 $aem
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 Books afford Consolation to the troubled Mind, by substituting 
 a lighter kind of Distress for its own.— They are productive 
 of other Advantages: — An Author's hope of being known in 
 
 distant Times. Arrangement of the Library. — Size and 
 
 Form of the Volumes. — The antient Folio, clasped and 
 chained. — Fashion prevalent even in this PI-k e. — The Mode 
 of publishing in Numb«irs, Pamphlets, &c.— Subjects of the 
 different Classes. — ~- Divinity. — Controversy. — The Friends 
 of Religion often more dangerous than her Foes. — Sceptical 
 Authors.— Reason too much rejected by the former Converts; 
 exclusively relied upon by the latter. Philosophy ascend- 
 ing through the Scale of Being to Moral Subjects. Books of 
 
 Medicine : Their Variety, Variance, and proneness to Sj stem : 
 The Evil of this, and the Difficulty it causes: — Farewell to 
 this Study. Law: — The increasing Number of its Vo- 
 lumes. — Supposed happy State of Man without Laws. — Pro- 
 gress of Society. Historians ; their Subjects. Drama- 
 tic Authors, Tragic and Comic. Antient Romances. — 
 
 The Captive Heroine. — Happiness in the perusal of such 
 
 Books : why. Criticism. — Apprehensions of the Author : 
 
 Removed by the Appearance of the Genius of the Place ; 
 whose Reasoning and Admonition conclude the Subject.
 
 THE 
 
 LIBRARY. 
 
 When the sad Soul, by Care and Grief opprest, 
 
 Looks round the World, but looks in vain, for Rest; 
 
 When every Object that appears in view, 
 
 Partakes her Gloom and seems dejected too ; 
 
 Where shall Affliction from itself retire ? 
 
 Where fade away and placidly expire? 
 
 Alas ! we fly to silent Scenes in vain, 
 
 Care blasts the Honours of the flow'ry Plain : 
 
 Care veils in Clouds the Sun's meridian Beam, 
 
 Sighs through the Grove and murmurs in the Stream ; 
 
 For when the Soul is labouring in Despair, 
 
 In vain the Body breathes a purer Air : 
 
 No storm-tost Sailor sighs for slumbering Seas, 
 
 He dreads tlie Tempest, but invokes the Breeze ;
 
 140 
 
 On the smooth Mirror of the Deep rcsules "N 
 
 Reflected Woe, and o'er unruffled Tides > 
 
 The Gliost of every former Danger glides. ) 
 
 Thus in the Cahiis of Life, Ave only see 
 
 A steadier Image of our Misery ; 
 
 But lively Gales and gently-clouded Skies, 
 
 Disperse the sad Reflections as they rise ; 
 
 And busy Thoughts and little Cares avail 
 
 To ease the Mind, when Rest and Reason fail. 
 
 When the dull Thought, by nrf Desii,''ns employed, 
 
 Dwells on the past, or suffer'd or enjoy 'd, 
 
 We bleed anew in every former Grief, 
 
 And Joys departed furnish no Relief. • ' 
 
 Not Hope herself, with all her flattering ki\^ 
 Can cure this stubborn Sickness of the Heart ; 
 The Soul disdains each Comfort she prepares, 
 And anxious searches for congenial Cares ; 
 Those lenient Cares, which, with our own corabin'd, 
 By mixt Sensations ease th' afflicted Mind, 
 And steal our Grief away and leave their own behind ; 
 A lighter Grief! which feeling Hearts endure 
 Without regret, nor ev'n demand a Cure. 
 
 But what strange Art, what Magic can dispose 
 The troubled Mind to change its native Woes } 
 Or lead us willing from ourselves, to see 
 Others more wretched, more undone than we? 
 
 \
 
 This, Books can do ; — nor this, alone i they give 
 
 New Views to Life and teach us how to live ; 
 
 They sootlie the Griev'd, the Slubborn they chastiaf!|-i 
 
 Fools they admonish and confirm Ihe Wise : 
 
 Their aid they yield to all : they never shun 
 
 The Man of Sorrow, nor the Wretch undone : 
 
 Unlike the Hard, the Selfish, and the Proud, 
 
 They fly not sullen from the suppliant Crowd ; 
 
 Nor tell to various People various Things, 
 
 But shew to Subjects, what they shew to Kings. 
 
 Come, Child of Care ! to make thy Soul serene, 
 Approach the Treasures of this tranquil Scene ! 
 Survey the Dome and as the Doors unfold, 
 The Soul's best Cure in all her Cares, behold ! 
 Where mental Wealth the poor in Thought may find, 
 And mental Physic the deceas'd in Mind ; 
 See here the Balms that Passion's Wounds assuage, 
 See Coolers here, that damp the Fire of Rage ; 
 Here Alt'ratives, by slow degrees controul 
 The Cronic Habits of the sickly Soul ; 
 And round the Heart and o'er the aching Head, 
 Mild Opiates here, their sober Influence shed. 
 Now bid thy Soul, Man's busy Scenes exclude, 
 And view compos'd this silent Multitude : — • 
 Silent they are, but, though depriv'd of Sound, 
 Here all the living Languages abound ;
 
 142 
 
 Here all that live no more ; preserv'd they He, 
 lu Tombs that open to the curious Eye. 
 
 Blest be the gracious Power, who taught Mankind, 
 To stamp a lasting Image of the Mind ! — 
 Beasts may convey, and tuneful Birds may sing, 
 Their mutual Feelings, in the opening Spring ; 
 But Man alone has Skill and Power to send. 
 The Heart's warm Dictates to the distant Friend: 
 'Tis his alone to please, instruct, advise. 
 Ages remote and Nations yet to rise. 
 
 In sweet Repose, when Labour's Children sleep. 
 When Joy forgets to smile and Care to weep, 
 When Passion slumbers in the Lover's Breast, 
 And Fear and Guilt partake the Balm of Rest, 
 Why then denies the studious Man to share 
 Man's common Good, who feels his common Care ? 
 
 Because the Hope is his, that bids him fly 
 Night's soft Repose and Sleep's mild Power defy ; 
 That After-ages may repeat his Praise, 
 And Fame's fair Meed be his, for length of days. 
 Delightful Prospect I when we leave behind, 
 A worthy Offspring of the fruitful Mind! 
 Which, born and nurst through many an anxious day, 
 Shall all our Labour, all our Cares repay. 
 
 Yet all are not these Births of noble Kind, 
 Not all the Children of a vigorous Mind ;
 
 143 
 
 But where the Wisest should alone preside, 
 The Weak would rule us and the Blind would guide ; 
 Nay, Man's best Efforts tast&.^f Man, and show. 
 The poor and troubled Source from which they flow ; 
 Where most he triumphs, we his Wants perceive, 
 And for his Weakness in his Wisdom grieve- 
 But though imperfect all ; yet Wisdom loves 
 This Seat serene, and Virtue's self approves : — . 
 Here come the Griev'd, a Change of Thought to find ; 
 The Curious here, to feed a craving Mind ; 
 Here the Devout, their peaceful Temple choose ; 
 And here, the Poet meets his favouring Muse. 
 
 With awe, around these silent Walks I tread ; 
 These are the lasting Mansions of the Dead : — 
 ' The Dead !, methinks a thousand Tongues reply; 
 
 * These are the Tombs of such as cannot die ! 
 
 * Crown'd with eternal Fame, they sit sublimCj 
 ' And laugh at all the little Strife of Time'. 
 
 Hail, then, Immortals ! ye who shine above, 
 Each in his Sphere, the literary Jove ; 
 And ye the common People of these Skies, 
 An humbler crowd of nameless Deities ; 
 Whether 'tis yours to lead the willing Mind 
 Through History's Mazes, and the Turnings find ; 
 Or wiiether, led by Science, ye retire, 
 Lost and bewilder 'd in the vast Desire ;
 
 144 
 
 Whether the Muse invites you to her liowcrs, 
 And crowns your placid Brows with living Flowers ; 
 Or godlike Wisdom tCiiches you to show 
 The noblest Road to Happiness below ; 
 Or Men and Manners prompt the easy Page 
 To mark the flying Follies of the Age : 
 Whatever Good ye boast, that Good impart ; 
 Inform the Head and rectify the Heart. 
 
 Lo ! all in Silence, all in Order stand, 
 And mighty Folio's first, a lordly Band ; 
 Then Quarto's their well-order'd Ranks maintain, 
 And light Octavo's fill a spacious Plain ; 
 See yonder, rang'd in more frequented Rows, 
 An humbler Band of Duodecimo's ; 
 While tmdistinguish'd Trifles swell the Scene, 
 The last new Play and fritter'd Magazine : 
 Thus 'tis in Life, where first the Proud, the Great, 
 In leagu'd Assembly keep their cumbrous State ; 
 Heavy and huge, they fill the World with dread. 
 Are much adrair'd and are but little read : 
 The Commons next, a middle Rank are found ; 
 Professions fruitful pour their Ofl^pring round ; 
 Reasoners and Wits are next their Place allow'd. 
 And last, of vulgar Tribes, a countless Crowd. 
 
 First let us view the Form, the Size, the Dress; 
 For, these the Manners, nay the Mind express ;
 
 145 
 
 That Weight of Wood, with leathern Coat o'erlaid, 
 Those ample Clasps, of solid Metal made; 
 The close-prest Leaves, unclos'd for many an Age, 
 The dull red Edging of the well-fiU'd Page ; 
 On the broad Back the stubborn Ridges roll'd, 
 Where yet the Title stands m tarnish'd Gold : 
 These all a sage and labour'd Work proclaim, 
 A painful Candidate for lasting Fame : 
 No idle Wit, no trifling Verse can lurk. 
 In the deep Bosom of that weighty Work ; 
 No playful Thoughts degrade the solemn Style, 
 Nor one light Sentence claims a transient Smile. 
 Hence, in these Times, untouch'd the Pages lie, 
 And slumber out their Immortality ; 
 They had their Day, when, after all his Toil, 
 His Morning Study, and his Midnight Oil, 
 At length an Author's One great Work appear'd. 
 By patient Hope and Length of Days, endear'd 5 
 Expecting Nations hail'd it from the Press, 
 Poetic Friends prefix'd each kind Address ; 
 Princes and Kings receiv*d the pond'rous Gift, 
 And Ladies read the Work, they could not lift. 
 Fashion, though Folly's Child, and Guide of Foolsj 
 Rules e'en the Wisest, and in Learning rules; 
 From Crowds and Courts to Wisdom's Seat she goes. 
 And reigns triumphant o'er her Mother's Foes,
 
 146 
 
 For lo ! these Fav'rites of the ancient Mode 
 Lie all neglected like the Birth-day Ode,- 
 Ah ! needless now this weight of massy Chain* ; 
 Safe in themselves, the once-lov'd Works remain ; 
 No Readers now invade their still Retreat, 
 None try to steal them from their Parent-seat ; 
 Like antient Beauties, they may now discard 
 Chains, Bolts, and Locks, and lie without a Guard. 
 Our patient Fathers, trifling Themes laid by. 
 And roll'd, o'er labour'd Works, th' attentive Eye ; 
 Page after Page, the much-enduring Men 
 Explor'd, the Deeps and Shallows of the Pen; 
 Till, every former Note and Comment known, 
 They mark'd the spacious Margin with their own : 
 Minute Corrections prov'd their studious Care ; 
 The little Index pointing, told us where ; 
 And many an Emendation show'd, the Age 
 Look'd far beyond the Rubric Title-page, 
 Our nicer Palates lighter Labours seek, 
 Cloy'd with a Folio-Nttmler once a Week ; 
 Bibles with Cuts and Comments, thus go down ; 
 Ev'n light Voltaire is Numbered through the Town : 
 Thus Physic flies abroad and thus the Law, 
 From men of Study and from men of Straw ; 
 
 * In tlie more antient Libraries, Works of value and impor- 
 tance were fastened to their places by a length of chain; and 
 might so be perused, but net taken away.
 
 U7 
 
 Abstracts, Abridgements, please the fickle Times, 
 Pamplilcls and Pla5's and Politics and Rhymes : 
 But though, to write be now a Task of Ease, 
 The Task is hard by manly Arts to please ; 
 When all our Weakness is expos'd to view. 
 And half our Judges are our Rivals too. 
 
 Amid these Works, on which the eager Eye 
 Delights to fix, or glides reluctant by ; 
 When all combin'd, their decent Pomp display, 
 Where shall we first our early OiF'ring pay ? 
 
 To thee, Divinity ! to thee, the Light 
 And Guide of Mortals, through their mental Night; 
 By whom we learn, our Hopes and Fears to guide. 
 To bear with Pain and to contend with Pride ; 
 When griev'd, to pray; wheuinjur'd, to forgive; 
 And with the World in Charity to live. 
 
 Not Truths like these, inspir'd that numerous Race, 
 Whose pious Labours fill this ample Space ; 
 But Questions nice, where Doubt on Doubt arose, 
 Awak'd io War the long-contending- Foes. 
 For dubious Meanings, learn'd Polemics strove, 
 And Wars on Faith prevented Works of Love .; 
 The Brands of Discord far around were hurl'd, 
 And holy Wrath inflam'd a sinful World.—
 
 148 
 
 Dull though impatient, peevish though devout, 
 With Wit disgusting and despis'd without; 
 Saints in Design, in Execution, Men, 
 Peace in their Looks and Vengeance in their Pcnv 
 
 Methinks I see, and sicken at the Sight, 
 Spirits of Spleen from yonder Pile alight ; 
 Spirits who prompted every damning Page^ 
 With Pontiff Pride and still-increasing Rage: 
 Lo! how they stretch their gloomy Wings around. 
 And lash with furious strokes the trembling Ground I 
 They prey, they fight, they murder, and they weep, 
 Wolves in their Vengeance, in their Manners Sheep. 
 Too well they act the Prophet's fatal Part, 
 Denouncing Evil with a zealous Heart ; 
 And each, like Jonas, is displeas'd if God 
 Repent His Anger, or withhold His Rod. 
 
 But here, the dormant Fury rests unsought, 
 And Zeal sleeps soundly by the Foes she fought ; 
 Here all the Rage of Controversy ends. 
 And rival Zealots rest like Bosom-Friends ; 
 An Athanasiam here in deep repose. 
 Sleeps with the fiercest of his Arian Foes ; 
 Socinians here with Calvinists abide. 
 And thin Partitions angry Chiefs divide; 
 Here wily Jesuits simple Quakers meet, 
 And Bellarmine has rest at Luther s feet
 
 149 
 
 Great Authors for the Church's glory fir'd, 
 
 Are for the Church's peace, to rest retir'd ; 
 
 And close beside, a mystic, maudlin Race, 
 
 Lie, " Crumbs of Comfort, for the Babes of Grace." 
 Against her Foes, Religion well defends 
 
 Her sacred Truths, but often fears her Friends ; 
 
 If learn'd, their Pride, if weak, their Zeal she dreads, 
 
 And their Hearts' weakness, who have soundest Heads ; 
 
 But most she fears the controyersial Pen, 
 
 The holy Strife of disputatious Men ; 
 
 Who the blest Gospel's peaceful Page explore, 
 
 Only to fight against its Precepts more. 
 
 Near to these Seats, behold yon slender Frames, 
 
 All closely fill'd and mark'd with modern Names ; 
 
 Where no fair Science ever shews her Face, 
 
 Few sparks of Genius and no spark of Grace; 
 
 There Sceptics rest, a still-increasing Throng, 
 
 And stretch their widening Wings ten-thousand strong ; 
 
 Some in close fight their dubious Claims maintain ; 
 
 Some skirmish lightly, fly and fight again ; 
 
 Coldly profane and impiously gay. 
 
 Their End the same, though various in their Way. 
 
 AVhen first Religion came to bless the Land, 
 Her Friends were then a firm believing Band ; 
 To doubt was, then, to plunge in Guilt extreme, 
 And all was Gospel that a Monk could dream ;
 
 150 
 
 Insulted Reason fled the grov'ling Soul, 
 For Fear to guide and Visions to controul : 
 But now, when Reason has assum'd her Throne, 
 She, in her turn, demands to reign alone ; 
 Rejecting all that lies beyond her View, 
 And, being Judge, will be a Witness too ; 
 Insulted Faith then leaves the doubtful Mind, 
 To seek for Truth, without a power to find : 
 Ah ! when will botli in friendly Beams unite, 
 And pour on erring Man resistless Light ? 
 
 Next to the Seats, well stor'd with Works Divine, 
 An ample Space, Philosophy !, is thine ; 
 Our Reason's Guide, by whose assisting Light, 
 We trace the moral Bounds of Wrong and Right ; 
 Our Guide through Nature, from the sterile Clay, 
 To the bright Orbs of yon Celestial Way ! 
 'Tis thine, the great, the golden Chain to trace, 
 Which runs through all, connecting Race with Race; 
 Save where those puzzling, stubborn Links remain, 
 Which thy inferior Light pursues in vain: — 
 How Vice and Virtue in the Soul contend ; 
 How widely differ, yet how nearly blend ! 
 What various Passions war on either part, 
 And now confirm, now melt the yielding Heart ; 
 How Fancy loves around the World to stray, 
 While Judgment slowly picks his sober way : ^
 
 151 
 
 The Stores of Memory and the Flights sublime 
 Of Genius, bound by neither Space nor Time ; — 
 All these, divine Philosophy explores, 
 Till, lost in awe, she wonders and adores. 
 From these descending to the Earth she turns, 
 And Matter, in its various Form, discerns ; 
 She parts the beamy Light with skill profound, 
 Metes the thin Air and weighs the flying Sound ; 
 'Tis her's, the Lightning from the Clouds to call, 
 And teach the fiery Mischief where to fall. 
 
 Yet more her Volumes teach, — on these we look 
 As Abstracts drawn from Nature's larger Book : 
 Here first describ'd, the torpid Earth appears, 
 And next, the Vcgetiible-robe it wears ; 
 Where flow'ry Tribes, in Valleys, Fields and Groves, 
 Nurse the still Flame, and feed the silent Loves ; 
 Loves, where no Grief, nor Joy, nor Bliss, nor Pain, 
 Warm the glad Heart or vex the labouring Brain ; 
 But as the green Blood moves along the Blade, 
 The Bed of Flora on the Branch is made ; 
 Where without Passion, Love instinctive lives, 
 And gives new Life, unconscious that it gives. 
 Advancing still in Nature's maze, we trace, 
 In Dens and burning Plains, her Savage-race ; 
 With those Tame-tribes who on their Lord attend. 
 And find, in Man, a Master and a Friend :
 
 152 
 
 Man crowns the Scene, a World of Wonders new, 
 A Moral World, that well demands our view. 
 
 This World is here ; for, of more lofty kind, 
 These neighbouring Volumes reason on the Mind ; 
 They paint the State of Man ere yet endu'd 
 With Knowledge ; — Man, poor, ignorant, and rude; 
 Then, as his State improves, their Pages swell, 
 And all its Cares and all its Comforts, tell : 
 Here we behold how Inexperience buys. 
 At little price, the Wisdom of the Wise ; 
 Without the Troubles of an active State, 
 Without the Cares and Dangers of the Great, 
 Without the Miseries of the Poor, we know 
 What Wisdom, Wealth, and Poverty bestow ; 
 We see how Reason calms the raging Mind, 
 And how contending Passions urge Mankind : 
 Some, won by Virtue, glow with sacred fire ; 
 Some, lur'd by Vice, indulge the low desire^; 
 Whilst others, won by either, now pursue 
 The guilty Chace, now keep the good in view ; 
 For ever wretched, with themselves at strife, 
 They lead a puzzled, vext, uncertain Life ; 
 For, transient Vice bequeaths a lingering Pain, 
 Which transient Virtue seeks to cure in vain. 
 
 Whilst thus engag'd, high Views enlarge the Soul, 
 New Interests draw, new Principles controul ;
 
 153 
 
 Nor thus the Soul alone resif,ms her Grief, 
 
 But here the tortur'd Body finds Relief; 
 
 For see where yonder sage Arachne shapes 
 
 Her subtile Gin, that not a Fly escapes ! 
 
 There Physic fills the Space, and far around, 
 
 Pile above pile, her learned Works abound ; 
 
 Glorious their Aim — to ease the labouring Heart, 
 
 To war with Death and stop his flying Dart ; 
 
 To trace the Source whence the fierce Contest grew. 
 
 And Life's short Lease on easier Terras renew ; 
 
 To calm the Frenzy of the burning Brain, 
 
 To heal the Tortures of imploring Pain, 
 
 Or, when more powerful Ills all Efforts brave. 
 
 To ease the Victim no Device can save, 
 
 And smooth the stormy Passage to the Grave. 
 
 But Man, who knows no Good unmix'd and pure. 
 Oft finds a Poison where he sought a Cure : 
 For, grave Deceivers lodge their Labours here, 
 And cloud the Science they pretend to clear : 
 Scourges for Sin, the solemn Tribe are sent ; 
 Like Fire and Storms, they call us to repent : 
 But Storms subside, and Fires forget to rage ; 
 These are eternal Scourges of the Age : 
 'Tis not enough that each terrific Hand 
 Spreads Desolation round a guilty Land ; 
 But, train'd to ill, and harden'd by its Crimes, 
 Their Pen reirntless kills through future Times.
 
 lo4 
 
 Say ye, -who search these Records of the Dead, 
 Who read huge Works, to boast what ye have read; 
 Can all the real Knowledije ye possess. 
 Or those (if such there arc), who more than guess, 
 Atone for each Impostor's wild Mistakes, 
 And mend the Blunders Pride or Folly makes ? 
 
 What Thought so wild, what airy Dream so light, 
 That will not prompt a Theorist to write ? 
 What Art so prevalent, what Proof so strong, 
 That will convince him his Attempt is wrong ? 
 One in the Solids finds each lurking III, 
 Nor grants the passive Fluids power to kill ; 
 A learned Friend some subtler Reason brings. 
 Absolves the Channels, but condemns their Springs ; 
 The subtile Nerves, that shun the Doctor's Eye, 
 Escape no more his subtler Theory ; 
 The vital Heat, that warms the labouring Heart, 
 Lends a fair System to these Sons of Art ; 
 The vital Air, a pure and subtle Stream, 
 Serves a Foundation for an airy Scheme, 
 Assists the Doctor, and supports his Dream. 
 Some have tlieir fiivourite Ills, and each Disease 
 Is but a younger Branch that kills from these : 
 One to the Gout contracts all human Pain, 
 lie views it raging in the frantic Brain ; 
 Finds it in Fevers all his efforts mar, 
 And sres it lurliinrr in the cold Catarrh :
 
 155 
 
 Bilious by some, by others nervous seen, 
 Rage the fantastic Daemons of the Spleen ; 
 And every Symptom of the strange Disease 
 With every System of the Sage agrees. 
 
 Ye frigid Tribe, on whom I wasted long 
 The tedious Hours and ne'er indulged in Song; 
 Ye first Seducers of my easy Heart, 
 Who prorais'd Knowledge, ye could not impart j 
 Ye dull Deluders, Truth's destructive Foes ; 
 Ye Sons of Fiction, clad in stupid Prose ; 
 Ye treacherous Leaders, who, yourselves in doubt. 
 Light up false Fires and send us far about ; — 
 Still may yon Spider round your Pages spin, 
 Subtle and slow, her emblematic Gin ! 
 Buried in Dust and lost in Silence, dwell, 
 Most potent, grave, and reverend Friends — Farewell ! 
 
 Near these, and where the setting Sun displays, 
 Through the dim Window, his departing Rays, 
 And gilds yon Columns, there on either side, 
 The huge Abridgements of the Law abide ; 
 Fruitful as Vice the dread Correctors stand. 
 And spread their guardian Terrors round the Land ; 
 Yet, as the best that human Care can do, 
 Is mixt with Error, oft with Evil too ; 
 Skill'd in Deceit, and practis'd to evade, 
 Knaves stand secure, for whom these Laws were made :
 
 156 
 
 And Justice vainly eacli expedient tries, 
 
 While Art eludes it, or while Power defies. 
 
 *' Ah ! happy Age," the youthful Poet sings, 
 
 *^ When the free Nations knew not Laws nor King's; 
 
 When all were blest to share a common Store, 
 
 And none were proud of Wealth, for none were poor; 
 
 No Wars, nor Tumults vex'd eacli still Domain, 
 
 No thirst of Empire, no desire of Gain ; 
 
 No proud Great Man, nor one who would be great, 
 
 Drove modest Merit from its proper State ; 
 
 Nor into distant Climes would Avarice roam, 
 
 To fetch Delights for Luxury at Home. 
 
 Bound by no tics which kept the Soul in awe, 
 
 They dwelt at liberty, and Love was Law !" 
 
 *' Mistaken Youth ! each Nation first was rude, 
 Each Man a clieerless Son of Solitude, 
 To whom no Joys of Social life were known. 
 None felt a Care that was not all his own ; 
 Or ill some languid Clime his abject Soul 
 Bow'd to a little Tyrant's stern controul ; 
 A Slave, with Slaves bis Monarch's Throne he rais'd, 
 And in rude Song his ruder Idol prais'd ; 
 The meaner Cares of Life were all he knew, 
 Bounded his Pleasures, and his Wishes few : 
 But when by slow degrees the Arts arose. 
 And Science waken'd from Iior long Repose ;
 
 157 
 
 AVhcn Commerce, rising from the Bed of Ease, 
 Ran round the Land and pointed to the Seas ; 
 When Emulation, born ^ith jealous Eye, 
 And Avarice, lent their Spurs to Industry ; 
 Then one by one the numerous Laws Avere made, 
 Those to controul, and these to succour Trade ; 
 To curb the Insolence of rude Command, 
 To snatch the Victim from the Usurer's hand ; 
 To awe the Bold, to yield the Wrong'd redress, 
 And feed the Poor with Luxury's excess." 
 
 Like some vast Flood, unbounded, fierce, and strong- 
 His Nature leads ungovern'd Man along ; 
 Like mighty Bulwarks made to stem that Tide, 
 The Laws are form'd and plac'd on evVy side ; 
 Whene'er it breaks the Bounds by these decreed, 
 New Statutes rise, and stronger Laws succeed ; 
 More and more gentle grows the dying Stream, 
 More and more strong the rising Bulwarks seem ; 
 Till, like a Miner working sure and slow. 
 Luxury creeps on, and ruins all below ; 
 The Basis sinks, the ample Piles decay, 
 The stately Fabric shakes and falls away ; 
 PrimaBval Want and Ignorance come on. 
 But Freedom, that exalts the Savage State, is gone. 
 
 Next, History ranks ; — there full in front she lies, 
 And every Nation her dread Tale supplies ;
 
 158 
 
 Yet History has her Doubts, and every Af^e 
 With sceptic Queries marks the passing Page ; 
 Records of old nor later Date are clear, 
 Too distant those and these are plac'd too near; 
 There Time conceals the Objects from our view. 
 Here our own Passions and a Writer's too : 
 Yet in these Volumes see how States arose ! 
 Guarded by Virtue from surrounding Foes ; 
 Their Virtue lost, and of their Triumphs vain, 
 Lo ! how they sunk to Slavery again ! 
 Satiate with Power, of Fame and Wealth possest, 
 A Nation grows too glorious to be blest ; 
 Conspicuous made, she stands the Mark of all, 
 And Foes join Foes to triumph in her Fall. 
 
 Thus speaks the Page that paints Ambition's Race, 
 The Monarch's Pride, his Glory, his Disgrace; 
 The headlong Course, that madd'ning Heroes run, 
 How soon triumphant, and how soon undone ; 
 How Slaves, turn'd Tyrants, offer Crowns to sale, 
 And each fall'n Nation's melancholy Tale. 
 
 Lo! where of late the Book of Martyrs stood, 
 Old pious Tracts, and Bibles bound in Wood ; 
 There, such the Taste of our degenerate Age, 
 Stand the profane Delusions of the Stage : 
 Yet Virtue owns the Tragic Muse a Friend,' 
 Fable her Means, Morality her End ;
 
 159 
 
 For this she rules all Passions in their turnsy 
 And now the Bosom bleeds, and now it burns ; 
 Pity with weeping Eye surveys her Bowl, 
 Her Anger swells, her Terror chills the Soul ; 
 She malies the Vile to "Virtue yield Applause, 
 And own her Sceptre while they break her Laws ; 
 For Vice in others is abhorr'd of all, 
 And Villains triumpli when the Worthless fall. 
 
 Not thus her Sister Comedy prevails, 
 Who shoots at Folly, for her Arrow fails ;, 
 Folly, by Dulness arra'd, eludes the Wound, 
 And harmless sees the feather'd Shafts rebound ; 
 Unhurt she stands, applauds the Archer's Skill, 
 Laughs at her Malice, and is Folly still. 
 Yet well the Muse pourtrays in fancied Scenes, 
 What Pride will stoop to, what Profession means -, 
 How formal Fools the Farce of State applaud. 
 How Caution watches at the Lips of Fraud ; 
 The wordy Variance of Domestic Life, 
 The tyrant Husband, the retorting Wife ; 
 The Snares for Innocence, the Lie of Trade, 
 And the smooth Tongue's habitual Masquerade. 
 
 With her the Virtues too obtain a Place, 
 Each gentle Passion, each becoming Grace ; 
 The social Joy in Life's securer Road, 
 Its easy Pleasure, its substant ial Good ;
 
 160 
 
 The happy Thought that conscious Virtue gircs. 
 And all that ought to live, and all that livet. 
 
 But who are these ? Methinks a noble Mien, 
 And awful Grandeur in their Form are seen, 
 Now in disgrace : what tho' by Time is spread, 
 Polluting Dust o'er every reverend Head ; 
 "What though beneath yon gilded Tribe they lie, 
 And dull Observers pass insulting by : 
 Forbid it Shame, forbid it decent Awe, 
 What seems so grave, should no Attention draw ? 
 Come, let us then with reverend step advance, 
 And greet — the ancient Worthies of Romance. 
 
 Hence, ye profane ! I feel a former dread, 
 A thousand Visions float around my head: 
 Hark ! hollow Blasts through empty Courts resound, 
 And shadowy Forms with staring Eyes stalk round; 
 See ! Moats and Bridges, Walls and Castles rise, 
 Ghosts, Fairies, Daemons, dance before our eyes ; 
 Lo ! Magic Verse inscrib'd on golden Gate, 
 And bloody Hand that beckons on to Fate; — 
 " And who art thou, thou little Page, unfold? 
 " Say, Doth thy Lord my Claribel with-hold ; 
 '^ Go tell him straight, Sir Knight, thou must resign 
 '^' The captive Queen : — for, Claribel is mine." 
 Away he flies ; and now for bloody Deeds, 
 Black Suits of Armour, Masks, and foaming Steeds ;
 
 161 
 
 Tile Giant falls ; his recreant Tiiroat I seize, 
 -And from his Corslet take the massy Keys : — 
 Dukes, Lords, and Knights in long procession move, 
 Releas'd from bondage with my virgin Love ; — • 
 She comes ! she comes ! in all the Charms of Youth, 
 Unequall'd Love and unsuspected Truth ! 
 
 Ah! happy he who tlius ui magic Themes, 
 O'er Worlds bewitch'd, in early rapture dreams, 
 Where wild Enchantment waves her potent Wand, 
 And Fancy's Beauties fill her Fairy Land; 
 Where doubtful Objects strange Desires excite. 
 And Fear and Ignorance afford Delight. 
 
 But lost, for ever lost, to me these Joys, 
 Which Reason scatters and which Time destroys, 
 Too dearly bought ; maturer Judgment calls 
 My busied Mind, from Tales and Madrigals; 
 My doughty Giants all are slain or fled, 
 And all my Knights, Blue^ Green, and Yellow, dead: 
 No more the midnight Fairy Tribe I view. 
 All in the merry Moonshine tippling Dew ; 
 Ev'n the last lingering Fiction of the Brain, 
 The church-yard Ghost, is now at rest again : 
 And all these wayward Wanderings of my Youth, 
 Fly Reason's Power and shun the Light of Truth. 
 
 With Fiction then does real Joy reside, 
 And is our Reason the delusive Guide ? 
 
 M
 
 162 
 
 Is it then right to dream the Syrens sin?? 
 Or mount enraptur'd on the Dr^iron's Wing? 
 No, 'tis the infant Mind, to Care unknown, 
 That makes th' imagm'd Paradise its own ; 
 Soon as Reflections in the Bosom rise, 
 Lifljht Slumbers vanish from the clouded Eyes : 
 The Tear and Smile, that once together rose, 
 Are then divorc'd ; the Head and Heart are foes ; 
 Enchantment bows to Wisdom's serious Plan, 
 And Pain and Prudence make and mar the Man. 
 
 While thus, of Power and fancy'd Empire vain, 
 With various Thoughts my Mind I entertain; 
 While Books my Slaves, with tyrant hand I seize, 
 Pleas'd with the Pride that will not let them please ; 
 Sudden I find terrific Thoughts arise, 
 And sympathetic Sorrow fills my Eyes ; 
 For, lo! while yet my Heart admits the Wound, 
 I see the Critic Army rang'd around. 
 
 Foes to our Race ! if ever ye have known 
 A Father's fears for Oflfspring of your own ; — 
 If ever, smiling o'er a lucky Line, 
 Ye thought the sudden Sentiment divine. 
 Then paus'd and doubted, and then, tir'd of doubt. 
 With rage as sudden dash'd the Stanza out ; — 
 If, after fearing much and pausing long. 
 Ye ventur'd on the World your labour'd Song,
 
 Aud from the crusty (Critics of those Days, 
 Implor'd the feeble Tribute of their Praise ; 
 Remember now, the Fears that rnov'd j^ou then, 
 And, spite of Truth, let Mercy guide your Pen. 
 
 What vent' reus Race arc ours ! what mighty Foes, 
 Lie waiting all around them to oppose ! 
 What treacherous Friends betra3' them to the Fight ! 
 What Dangers threaten them ! ; yet still they write : 
 A hapless Tribe! to every Evil born, 
 Whom Villains hate and Fools afiect to scorn : 
 Strangers they come, amid a world of Woe, 
 And taste the largest Portion ere they go. 
 
 Pensive I spoke, and cast mine eyes around , 
 The Roof, ii^ethought, rettirn'd a solemn Sound; 
 Each Column seem'd to shake, and Clouds, like Smoke/ n^ 
 
 From dusty Piles and ancient Volumes broke ; 
 Gathering above, like Mists condensed they seem, 
 ExliaFd in Summer fi<om tlie rushy Stream*; 
 Like flowing Robes they now appear, and twine 
 Round the large Members of a Form divine; 
 His Silver Beard, that swept his aged Breast, 
 His piercing Eye, that inward Light expressed. 
 Were seen, — but Clouds and Darkness veil'd the rest. 
 Fear chill'd my Heart; to one of mortal Race, 
 How awful seem'd the Genius of the Place! 
 
 M 2
 
 16'4 
 
 So ill Ciinincrum siiovos, L'lvsses saw 
 His Parent-sluule, iiiid shrunk in pious awe ; 
 Like him 1 stood, and Mrapt in thought profound, 
 When from the pitying Power broke forth a solemn 
 Sound : — 
 
 " Care lives with all ; no Rules, no Precepts save -v 
 The Wise from Woe, no Fortitude the Brave : > 
 
 Grief is to Man as certain as the Grave ; J 
 
 Tempests and Storms in Life's Avhole progress rise, 
 And Hope shines dimly through o'erclouded skies; 
 Some drops of Comfort on the favour'd fall, 
 But showers of Sorrow are the Lot of all : 
 Partial to Talents, then, shall Heav'n withdraw 
 Th' afflicting Rod, or break the general Law? 
 Shall he who soars, inspir'd by loftier Views, 
 Life's little Cares and little Pains refuse ? 
 Shall he not rather feel a double Share 
 Of r.:ortal W^oe, when doubly arm'd to bear? 
 
 " Hard is his Fate who builds his Peace of Mind 
 On the precarious Mercy of Mankind ; 
 Who hopes for wild and visionary things. 
 And mounts o'er unknown Seas with vent'rous Wings: 
 But as, of various Evils that befall 
 The human Race, some Portion goes to all ; 
 To him perhaps the milder Lot's assign'd, 
 Who feels hi<; Consolation in his Mind ;
 
 165 
 
 And lock'd within his Bosom, brars about 
 
 A mental Charm for every Care, without. 
 
 Ev'n in the Pangs of each domestic Grief, 
 
 Or Health or vigorous Hope aflfords Relief; 
 
 And every Wound the tortur'd Bosom feels, 
 
 Or Virtue bears, or some Preserver heals ; 
 
 Some generous Friend, of ample Power possest ; 
 
 Some feeling Heart, tltat bleeds for tlie distrest ; 
 
 Some Breast that glows with Virtues all divine ; 
 
 Some noble RUTLAND, Misery's Friend and thine. 
 
 " Nor say, the Muses' Song, the Poet's Pen, 
 Merit the Scorn they meet from little men. 
 With cautious freedom if the Numbers flow, 
 Not wildly high, not pitifully low ; 
 If Vice alone their honest Aims oppose. 
 Why so asham'd their Friends, so loud their Foes ? 
 Happy for Men in every Age and Clime, 
 If all the Sons of Vision dealt in Rhyme. 
 Go on then, Son of Vision ! still pursue 
 The airy Dreams ; the World is dreaming too. 
 Ambition's lofty Views, the Pomp of State, 
 The Pride of Wealth, the Splendour of the Great, 
 Stript of their Mask, their Cares and Troubles known, 
 Are Visions far less happy than thy own : 
 Go on ! and, while the Sons of Care complain, 
 Be wisely gay and innocently vain ;
 
 166 
 
 While serio\is Souls are by their Fears undone. 
 Blow sportive Bladders in the beamy Sun, 
 And call them Worlds !, and bid the greatest show 
 More radiant Colours in their World below: 
 Then, as they break, the Slaves of Care reprove, 
 And tell them, Sucli arc all the Toys they love."
 
 THE 
 
 NEWSPAPER t
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 This not a Time favourable to roctical Composition; and wliv. 
 — Newspapers enemies to Literature, and their general In- 
 fluence : — their Numbers. — The Sunday Monitor. — Their 
 general Character. — Their Effect upon Individuals; — upon 
 Society, — in the Country. — Ihe Village-Freeholder. — \A'hat 
 kuid of Composition a Newspaper is ; and the Amusement it 
 affords. — Of what Parts it is chiefly composed. — Articles of 
 Intelligence : — Advertisements : — Tlu- Stage : — Quacks : — 
 Puffmg. — The Correspondents to a Newspaper, Political and 
 Poetical : — Advice to the latter. — Conclusion.
 
 THE 
 
 NEWSPAPER. 
 
 K quihus, lii vacuas iinplent scrmonibiis a\iiei. 
 Hi narrata ferunt ali6 ; mensurrique ficti 
 Crescit, et auditis aliquid novus adjicit auclor : 
 lUic credulitas, illic temeiarius error, 
 Vanique Isctitia est, consternatique timorcs, 
 St-diti6que repens, dubi6que auctore susurri. 
 
 Ovid. Metamorrih. Lib. xii. 
 
 i\ TIME like this, a busy, bustling time, 
 Suits ill with Writers, very ill with Rhyme ; 
 Unheard we sing when Party-rage runs strong. 
 And mightier Madness checks the flowing Song : 
 Or should we force the peaceful Muse to wield 
 Her feeble Arms amid the furious Field ; 
 Where Party-Pens a wordy War maintain, 
 Poor is her Anger and her Friendship vain'.
 
 170 
 
 And oft the Foes who feel her Stinc;, combine, 
 Till serious Vengeance pays an idle Line ; 
 For Party-Poets arc like Wasps, who dart 
 Death to themselves and to their Foes but Smart. 
 
 Hard then our Fate : if general Themes we choose. 
 Neglect awaits the Song, and chills the Muse ; 
 Or should we sing the Subject of the Day, 
 To-morrow's Wonder pufFs our Praise away . 
 More blest the Bards of that Poetic Time, 
 W^hen all found Readers who could find a Rhyme; 
 Green grew the Bays on every teeming Head, 
 And Cibber was enthron'd and Settle read. 
 Sing, drooping Muse, the Cause of thy Decline ; 
 Why reign no more the once-triumphant Nine? 
 Alas ! new Charms the wavering Many gain. 
 And rival Sheets the Reader's Eye detain ; 
 A daily Swarm, that banish every Muse, 
 Come flying forth, and Mortals call them News : 
 For these, unread the noblest Volumes lie ; 
 For these, in Sheets unsoil'd the Muses die ; 
 Unbought, unblcst, the virgin Copies wait, 
 In vain for Fame, and sink, unseen, to fate. 
 
 Since, then, the Town forsakes us for our Foes, 
 The smoothest Numbers for the harshest Prose ; 
 Let us, with generous scorn, the Taste dcvidc. 
 And sing our Rivals with a Rival's Pride,
 
 171 
 
 Ye gentle Poets, who so oft complain 
 That foul Neglect is all your Labours gain;^ 
 That Pity only checks your growin i Spite 
 To erring Man and prompts you still to write ; 
 That your choice Works on humble Stalls are laid. 
 Or vainly grace the Windows of the Trade ; 
 Be ye my Friends, if Friendship e'er can warm 
 Those rival Bosoms whom the Muses charm : 
 Think of the common Cause, wherein we go, 
 Like gallant Greeks against the Trojan foe ; 
 Nor let one peevish Chief his Leader blame, 
 Till crown'd with Conquest we regain our Fame; 
 And let us join our Forces to subdue 
 This bold assuming but successful Crew. 
 
 I sing of News, and all those vapid Sheets 
 The rattling Hawker vends thro' gaping Streets ; 
 Whate'er their Name, whate'er the Time they fly, 
 Damp from the Press, to charm the Reader's Eye: 
 For, soon as Morning dawns with roseate hue, 
 The Herald of the Morn arises too ; 
 Post after Post succeeds, and all day long. 
 Gazettes and Ledge ns swarm, a noisy throng. 
 When Evening comes, she conjes with all her train 
 Of Ledgers, Chronicles, and Posts again, 
 Like Bats appearing when the Sun goes down. 
 From Holes obscure and Comers of the Town.
 
 172 
 
 Of all these Triflers, all like these, I \vri(c; 
 Oh ! like my Subject could my Son^ dclii^lif, 
 The Cro'.vd at Lhj/d's one Poet's Name should raise, 
 And all the Allej/ echo to his praise. 
 
 In shoals the Hours their constant Numbers brin<j, 
 Like Insects waking to th' advancinic Spring ; 
 Which take their rise from Grubs obscene that lie, 
 In shallow Pools, or thence ascend the Sky ; 
 Such are these base Ephemeras, so born 
 To die before the next revolving Morn. 
 
 Yet thus they differ: Insect-tribes are lost 
 In the first Visit of a Winter's Frost ; 
 While these remain, a base but constant Breed, 
 Whose swarming Sons their short-liv'd Sires succeed ; 
 No changing Season makes their Number less, 
 Nor Sunday shines a Sabbath on the Press ! ! 
 
 Then lo ! the sainted Monitor is born, 
 Whose pious Face some sacred Texts adorn : 
 As artful Sinners cloak the secret Sin, 
 To veil with seeming Grace the Guile within ; 
 So Moral Essays on his Front appear, 
 But all is Carnal Business in the Rear ; 
 The fresh-coin'd Lie, the Secret whisper'd last, 
 And all the Gleanings of the six Days past. 
 
 With these retir'd, thro' half the Sabbath-day, 
 The London-lounger yawns his Hours away :
 
 173 
 
 Not so, my little Flock !, your Preacher liy, 
 Nor waste the Time no worldly Wealth can buy ; 
 But let the decent Maid and sober Clown, 
 Pray for these Idlers of the sinful Town : 
 This Day at least, on nobler Themes bestow, 
 Nor give to JFoodfall, or the World below. 
 
 But, Sunday past, what Numbers flourish then, 
 What wond'rous Labours of tlie Press and Pen! 
 Diurnal most, some thrice each Week affords. 
 Some only once, O Avarice of Words ! 
 When thousand starving Minds such Manna seek*, 
 To drop (he precious Food but once a Week. 
 
 Endless it were to sing the Powers of all, 
 Their Names, their Numbers ; how they rise and fall; 
 Like baneful ITerbs the Gazer's eye they seize, 
 Rush to tlie head and poison where they please ; 
 Like idle Flies, a busy, buzzing train, 
 They drop their Maggots in the Trifler's Brain : 
 That genial Soil receives the fruitful Store, 
 And there they grow, and breed a thousand more. 
 
 Now be their Arts display'd, how first they choose 
 A Cause and Party, as the Bard his Muse ; 
 
 * The Manna of the Day. Green's Spleen,
 
 174 
 
 Inspir'd by these, with clamorous zefil they cry, 
 And thro' the Town their Dreams and Omens fly i 
 So the Sibylline* Leaves were blo^vn about, 
 Disjointed scraps of Fate involv'd in doubt : 
 So idle Dreams, the Journals of the Night, [Right — . 
 Are riglit and wrong by turns, and mingle Wrong with 
 Some Champions for the Rights that prop the Crown, 
 Some sturdy Patriots, sworn to pull them down ; 
 Some neutral Powers, with secret Forces fraught, 
 Wishing for War, but Avilling to be bought : 
 While some to every Side and Party go, 
 Shift every Friend and join with every Foe ; 
 Like sturdy Rogues in Privateers they strike 
 This side and that, the Foes of both alike ; 
 A Traitor-crew, who thrive in troubled Times, 
 Fear'd for their Force and courted for their Crimes 
 
 Chief to the prosperous side the Numbers sail. 
 Fickle and false, they veer with every Gale ; 
 As Birds that migrate from a freezing Shore, 
 In search of warmer Climes, come skimming o'er, 
 Scrnie bold Adventurers first prepare to try 
 The doubtful Sunshine of the distant Sky ; 
 
 ' >/>. . >j . I. • !-■); ■ ".J . ■■; .-li.i \ ■<■■ >'- 
 
 « . — — in foliis dcscripsit carmina Virgo ; — 
 
 tt tcReres turbavit janua frondes. 
 
 VxRG. JT.nr'n]. lib. iii.
 
 175 
 
 But soon the growing Summer's certain Sun 
 Wins more and more, till all at last are won; 
 So, on the early Prospect of Disgrace, 
 Fly in vast Troops this apprehensive Race ; 
 Instinctive Tribes ! their failing Food they dread, 
 And buy, with timely Change, their future Bread. 
 
 Such arc our Guides ; how many a peaceful Head, 
 Born to be still, have they to wrangling led ! 
 How many an honest Zealot, stol'n from Trade, 
 And factious Tools of pious Pastors made! 
 With Clews like these they tread the Maze of State, 
 These Oracles explore, to learn our Fate ; 
 Pleas'd with the Guides who can so well deceive, 
 Who cannot lie so fast as they believe. 
 
 Oft lend I, loth, to some sage Friend an ear, 
 (For we who will not speak are doom'd to hear) ; 
 While he, bewilder'd tells his anxious Tliought, 
 Infectious Fear from tainted Scribblers caught, 
 Or idiot Hoj?e; for each his Mind assails. 
 As Lloyd's Court-light or Stockdale's Gloom prevails. 
 Yet stand I patient while but one declaims. 
 Or gives dull Comments on the Sj[)eech he maims; 
 But oh ! ye Muses, keep your Votarj^'s feet 
 From Tavern-haunts where Politicians mt-et:
 
 170 
 
 Where Rector, Doctor, and Attorney pause. 
 
 First on each Parish then eacli public Cause: 
 
 Intlited Roads and Rates that still increase; 
 
 The murmurin<^ Poor, ulio w ill not fast in peace ; 
 
 Election-zeal and Friendship, since decline ; 
 
 A Tax commuted, or a Tithe in Kind ; 
 
 The Dutch and Germans kindling irito strife, 
 
 Dull Port and Poachers vile ! the serious Ills of Life. 
 
 Here comes the neighbouring Justice, pleas'd to guide 
 His little Club and in the Chair preside. 
 h\ private Business his Commands prevail. 
 On public Themes his Reasoning turns the scale ; 
 Assenting Silence soothes his happy Ear, 
 And, in or out, his Party triumphs here. 
 
 Nor here th' infectious rage for Party stops. 
 But flits along from Palaces to Shops ; 
 Our weekly Journals o'er the Land abound. 
 And spread their Plagues and Influenzas round ; 
 The Village too, the peaceful, pleasant Plain, 
 Breeds the Whig-farmer and the Tory-swain ; 
 Brooks' and St. Alban's boasts not, but instead. 
 Stares the Red Ram, and swings the Rodnej/'s Head : — 
 Hither, with alia Patriot's care, comes he 
 Who owns the little Hut that makes him free; 
 Whose yearly Forty Shillings buy the Smile 
 Of mightier Men, and never waste the while ;
 
 177 
 
 Who feels liis Freehold's Worth and looks elate, 
 A little Prop and Pillar of the State. 
 
 Here he delights the weekly News to con. 
 And mingle Comments as he blunders on ; 
 To swallow all their varying Authors teach. 
 To spell a Title and confound a Speech : 
 Till with a muddled Mind he quits the News, 
 And claims his Nation's Licence to abuse ; 
 Then joins the Cry, " That all the Courtly Race, 
 *' Are venal Candidates for Power and Place;" 
 Yet feels some joy amid the general Vice, 
 That his own Vote will bring its wonted Price. 
 
 These are the Ills the teeming Press supplies, 
 These pois'uous Springs from Learning's Fountain rise ; 
 Not there the Wise alone their Entrance find, 
 Imparting useful Light to Mortals blind ; 
 But, blind themselves, these erring Guides hold out 
 Alluring Lights, to lead us far about ; 
 Screen'd by such Means, here Scandal whets her Quill, 
 Here Slander shoots unseen, whene'er she will ; 
 Here Fraud and Falsehood labour to deceive, 
 And Folly aids them both, impatient to believe. 
 
 Such, Sons of Britain !, are the Guides ye trust 5 
 So wise their Counsel, their Reports so just :— < 
 
 I
 
 178 
 
 Yet, thoiii^li we cannot call tlieir Morals pure, 
 Their Judgment nice, or their Decisions sure ; 
 Merit they have to mightier Works unknown, 
 A Style, a Manner, and a Fate their own. 
 
 We, who for longer Fame with labour strive, 
 Are pain'd to keep our sickly Works alive; 
 Studious we toil, with patient Care refine, 
 Nor let our Love protect one languid Line. 
 Severe ourselves, at last our Works appear, 
 When, ah ! we find our Readers more severe ; 
 For after all our Care and Pains, how few 
 Acquire Applause, or keep it if they do ! — 
 
 Not so these Sheets, ordain'd to happier Fate, 
 Prais'd thro' their Day, and but that Day their Date 
 Their careless Authors only strive to join 
 As many Words, as make an even Line* ; 
 As many Lines, as fill a Row complete ; % 
 As many Rows, as furnish up a Sheet : 
 From side to side, with ready Types they run. 
 The Measure 's ended, and the Work is done ; 
 Oh, born with Ease, how envy'd and how blest ! 
 Your Fate to-day and your to-morrow's Rest. 
 
 * How many hours bring about the day. 
 How many days will furnish up the year, 
 How many years a mortal Man may live ; Sec. 
 
 Shakspeare's Henry ^ I.
 
 179 
 
 To you all Readers turn, and they can look 
 Pleas'd on a Paper, who abhor a Book ; 
 Those who ne'er deign'd their Bible to peruse, 
 Would think it hard to be deny'd their News ; 
 Sinners and Saints, the wisest with the weak, 
 Here mingle Tastes and one Amusement seek : 
 This, like the Public Inn, provides a Treat, 
 Where each promiscuous Guest sits down to eat ; 
 And such this mental Food, as we may call, 
 Something to all Men and to some Men all. 
 
 Next, in what rare Production shall we trace, 
 Such various Subjects in so small a Space ? 
 As the first Ship upon the Waters bore 
 Incongruous Kinds who never met before j 
 Or as some curious Virtuoso joins, 
 In one small room. Moths, Minerals, and Coins, 
 Birds, Beasts, and Fishes ; nor refuses place 
 To Serpents, Toads, and all the Reptile-race ; 
 So here, compress'd within a single Sheet, 
 Great things and small, the mean and mighty meet ; 
 'Tis this which makes all Europe's Business known, 
 Yet here« private Man may place his own ; 
 And wliere he reads of Lords and Commons, he 
 May tell tlieir Honours that he sells Rappee. 
 
 N 2
 
 180 
 
 Add next th' Amusement which the motley Page 
 Affords to either Sex and every Age : 
 Lo ! where it comes before the cheerful Fire, 
 Damps from the Press in smoky Curls aspire, 
 (As from the Earth the Sun exiiales the Dew,) 
 Ere we can read the Wonders that ensue : 
 Then eager every Eye surveys tlie Part, 
 That brings its favourite Subject to the Heart ; 
 Grave Politicians look for Facts alone, 
 And gravely add Conjectures of their own : 
 The sprightly Nymph, who never broke her rest 
 For tottering Crowns, or mighty Lands opprest, 
 Finds Broils and Battles, but neglects them all 
 For Songs and Suits, a Birth-day, or a Ball : 
 The keen warm Man o'er looks each idle Tale 
 For " Moneys wanted," and '' Estates on Sale ;" 
 While some with equal Minds to all attend, .. 
 Pleas'd with each Part and griev'd to find an End. 
 
 So charm the News ; but we, who, far from Town, 
 Wait till the Post-man brings the Packet down, 
 Once in the Week, a vacant Day behold, 
 And stay for Tidings, till they're three Days old : 
 That Day arrives ; no welcome Post appears, 
 But the dull Morn a sullen Aspect wears ;
 
 181 
 
 We meet, but ah ! without our wonted Smile, 
 To talk of Headaches, and complain of Bile; 
 Sullen we ponder o'er a dull Repast, 
 Nor feast the Body while the Mind must fast. 
 
 A master Passion is the Love of News, 
 Not Music so commands, nor so the Muse; 
 Give Poets Claret, they grow idle soon ; 
 Feed the Musician and he's out of tune ; 
 But the sick Mind of this Disease possest, 
 Flies from all Cure and sickens when at rest. 
 
 Now sing, my Muse, what various Parts compose 
 These rival Sheets of Politicks and Prose. 
 
 First, from each Brother's Hoard a Part they draw, 
 A mutual Theft that never fear'd a Law ; 
 Whate'er they gain, to each man's Portion fall, 
 And read it once, you read it through them all : 
 For this their Runners ramble day and night, 
 To drag each lurking Deed to open Light ; 
 For daily Bread the dirty Trade they ply, 
 Coin their fresh Tales and live upon the Lie : 
 Like Bees for Honey, forth for News they spring, 
 Industrious Creatures! ever on the Wing; 
 Home to their several Cells they bear the Store, 
 CuU'd of all Kindsj then roam abroad for more.
 
 182 
 
 No anxious Virgin flies to " fair Tweed-side;" 
 No injnr'd Husband mourns his faithless Bride ; 
 No Duel dooms the tiery Youth to bleed ; 
 But thro' the Town transpires each vent'rous Deed. 
 
 Should some fair Frail-one drive her prancing Pair, 
 Where rival Peers contend to please the Fair ; 
 When with new force, she aids her conquering Eyes, 
 And Beauty decks, with all that Beauty biiys ; 
 Quickly we letirn whose Heart lier Influence feels. 
 Whose Acres melt, before her glowing Wheels. 
 
 To these a thousand idle Themes succeed. 
 Deeds of all kinds and Comments to each Deed. 
 Here Stocks, the State-Barometers we view, 
 That rise or fall, by Causes known to few ; 
 Promotion's Ladder who goes up or down. 
 Who wed, or who seduc'd, amuse the Town ; 
 What new-born Heir has made his Father blest. 
 What Heir exults, his Father now at rest; 
 That ample List the Tyburn-herald gives. 
 And each known Knave, who still for Tyburn lives. 
 
 So grows the Work, and now the Printer tries 
 His Powers no more, but leans on his Allies. 
 
 When lo I the advertising Tribe succeed. 
 Pay to be read, yet find but few will read;
 
 183 
 
 And chief th' illustrious Race, whose Drops and Pilb 
 Have patent Powers to vanquisli human Ills : 
 These, with tiieir Cures, a constant Aid remain. 
 To bless the pale Composer's fertile Brain : 
 Fertile it is, but still the noblest Soil 
 Requires some pause, some intervals from Toil ; 
 And they at least a certain Ease obtain 
 From Kafferfelto's Skill, and Graham's glowing Strain. 
 
 I too must aid, and pay to see my Name 
 Hung in thcsti dirty Avenues to Fame ; 
 Nor pay in vain, if aught the Muse has seen 
 And sung, could make those Avenues more clean ; 
 Could stop one Slander ere it found its way, 
 And gave to public Scorn its helpless Prey. 
 By the same Aid, the Stage invites her Friends, 
 And kindly tells the Banquet she intends ; 
 Thither from real Life the Many run, 
 With SiDDONs weep, or laugh with Abingdon; 
 Pleas'd in fictitious Joy or Grief, to see 
 The mimic Passion with their own agree ; 
 To steal a few enchanted Hours away 
 From Care and drop the Curtain on the Day. 
 
 But who can steal from Self that wretched Wight, 
 Whose darling Work is try'd, some fatal Niglit ? 
 Most wretched Man ! when, bane to every Bliss, 
 He hears the Serpent-Critic's rising Hiss ;
 
 184 
 
 Then Groans succeed : not Traitors on the WbccI, 
 Can feel like him, or have such Pangs to feel. 
 
 Noi end they here ; next day he reads his Fall, 
 In every Paper ; Critics are they all ; 
 He sees his branded Name, with Avild affright, 
 And hears again the Cat-calls of the Night. 
 
 Such Help the Stage affords ; a larger Space, 
 Is fill'd by Puffs and all the Puffing Race. 
 Physic had once alone the lofly Style, 
 The well-known Boast, that ceas'd to raise a smile : 
 Now all the Province of that Tribe invade. 
 And we abound in Quacks of every Trade. 
 
 The simple Barber, once an honest Name, 
 Cervantes founded, Fielding rais'd his Fame; 
 Barber no more ; a gay Perfumer comes, 
 On whose soft Cheek his own Cosmetic blooms ; 
 Here he appears, each simple Mind to move, 
 And advertises Beauty, Grace, and Love. — 
 
 " Come, faded Belles, who would your Youth reneW; 
 And learn the ponders of Olympian Dew ; 
 Restore the Roses that begin to faint, 
 Nor think celestial Washes, vulgar Paint ; 
 Your former Features, Airs, and Arts assume, 
 Circassian Virtues, with Circassian Bloom,
 
 185 
 
 *^ Come, bat fer'd Beaux, Aviiose Locks are lurn'dto gray. 
 And crop Discretion's lying Badge away ; 
 Read where tbey vend these smart engaging Things, 
 These flaxen Frontlets with elastic Springs ; 
 No Female Eye the iah Deception sees, 
 Not Nature's self so natural as these." 
 
 Such are their Arts, but not confin'd to thera, , 
 
 The Muse impartial must her Sons condemn : 
 For they, degenerate ! join the venal Throng, 
 And puiF a lazy Pegasus along : 
 More guilty these, by Nature less design'd 
 For little Arts that suit the Vulgar-kind. 
 
 That Barber's Boys, who would to Trade advance. 
 Wish us to call them, smart Frisseurs from France ; 
 That he who builds a Ghop-house, on his Door 
 Paints " The true old original Blue Boar!" 
 
 These are the Arts by which a thousand live, 
 Where Truth may smile and Justice may forgive ; 
 But when amid this Rabble-rout we find 
 A puffing Poet to his Honour blind ; 
 Who silly drops Quotations all about 
 Packet or Post and points their Merit out ; 
 Who advertises what Reviewers say, 
 With sham Editions every second day ; 
 Who dares not trust his Praises out of Sights 
 But hurries into Fame with all his might ;
 
 186 
 
 Althougli the Verse some transient Praise obtains. 
 Contempt is all the anxious Poet gains. 
 
 Now Puffs exhausted, Advertisements past, 
 Their Correspondents stand expos'd at last : 
 These are a numerous Tribe to Fame unknown, 
 Who for the public Good forego their own; 
 Who Volunteers in Paper-war engage, 
 With double Portion of their Party's Rage : 
 Such are the Bruti, Decij, who appear 
 Wooing the Printer for Admission here ; 
 Whose generqus Souls can condescend to pray 
 For leave to throw their precious Time away. 
 
 Oh ! cruel Woobfall ! when a Patriot draws 
 His grey-goose Quill in his dear Country's Cause, 
 To vex and maul a Ministerial Rjicp, 
 Can thy stern Soul refuse the Champion place ? 
 Alas ! thou know'st not with what anxious heart 
 lie longs his besl-lov'd Labours to impart; 
 How he has sent them to thy Brethren round, 
 And still the same unkind Reception found : 
 At length indignant will he damn the State, 
 Turn to his Trade and leave us to our Fate. 
 
 These Roman Souls, like Rome's great Sons, are knoAvn 
 To live in Cells on Labours of their own.
 
 187 
 
 Thus MiLo, could we see the noble Chief, 
 Feeds, for his Country's good, on Legs of Beef: 
 Camillus copies Deeds for sordid Pay, 
 Yet fights the public Battles twice a day : 
 Ev'n now the godlike Brutus views his Score 
 Scroll'd on the Bar-board, swinging with the Door; 
 Where, tippling Punch, grave Cato's self you'll see, 
 And Amor Patrice vending smuggled Tea. 
 
 Last in these Ranks and least, their Art's Disgrace, 
 Neglected stand the Muses' meanest Race ; 
 Scribblers who court Contempt, whose Verse the Eye 
 Disdainful views, and glances swiftly by : 
 This Poet's Corner is the place they choose, 
 A fatal Nursery for an infant Muse; 
 Unlike that Corner where true Poets lie, 
 These cannot live and they shall never die ; 
 Hapless the Lad whose Mind such Dreams invade. 
 And win to Verse the Talents due to Trade. 
 
 Curb then, O Youth ! these Raptures as they rise, 
 Keep down the Evil Spirit and be wise ; 
 Follow your Calling, think the Muses foes, 
 Nor lean upon the Pestle, and compose. 
 
 I know your Day-dreams, and I know the Snare 
 Hid in your flow'ry path, and cry " Beware."
 
 188 
 
 TIioiigLtlcss of [11, and (o the future blind, 
 A sudden Couplet nishrs in your Mind ; 
 Here you may nameless print 3'our idle Rhymes, 
 And read your first-born Work a thous;md times ; 
 Th' Infection spreads, your Couplet grows apace, 
 Stanzas to Delia's Dog or Celia's Face ; 
 You take a Name ; Philander's Odes are seen. 
 Printed, and prais'd, in every Magazine; 
 Diarian Sages greet their brother Sage, 
 And your dark Pages please th' enlighten'd Age. - • 
 Alas ! ^vhat Years you thus consume in vain, 
 Hul'd by this Avretched Bias of the Brain ! 
 
 Go ! to your Desks and Counters all return ; 
 Your Sonnets scatter, your Acrostics burn ; 
 Trade, and be rich ; or should your careful Sires 
 Bequeath you Wealth ! indulge the nobler Fires ; 
 Should Love of Fame your youthful Heart betray, 
 Pursue fair Fame, hnt in a glorious Way, 
 Nor in the idle Scenes of Fancy's Painting stray. 
 
 Of all the good that mortal Men pursue, 
 The Muse has least to give and gives to few ; 
 Like some coquettish Fair, she leads us on, 
 With Smiles and Jlopes, till Youth and Peace arc gone ; 
 Then, wed for Life, the restless wrangling Pair, 
 Fori^et how constant one and one how fair :
 
 189 
 
 Meanwhile Ambition, like a blooming Bride, 
 Brings Power and Wealth to grace her Lover's Side ; 
 And tho' she smiles not with such flattering Charms, 
 The Brave will sooner win her to their Arms* 
 
 Then wed to her, if Virtue tic the Bands, 
 Go spread your Country's Fame in hostile Lands ; 
 Her Court, her Senate, or her Arms adorn. 
 And let her Foes lament that you v.ere born : 
 Or weigh her Laws, tlieir ancient Bights defend, 
 Tho' Hosts oppose, be theirs and Reason's Friend ; 
 Arm'd with strong Powers, in their Defence engage. 
 And rise the Thurlow of the future As-e,
 
 THE 
 
 BIRTH OF FLATTERY
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 The Subject: — Poverty and Cunning described: — When 
 united, a jarrijig Couple. — Mutual Reproof. — The Wife 
 consoled by a Dream. — Birth of a Daughter. — Description 
 and Prediction of Ertvy: — LIow to be rendered ineffectual, 
 explained in a Vision. — Simulation foretells the future Suc- 
 cess and Triumphs of Flattery. — Her Power over various 
 Characters and different Minds ; — over certain Classes of 
 Men; — over Envy lumself. — Her successful Art of soften- 
 ing the Evils of Life; — of changing Characters ; — of melio- 
 rating Prospects, and, affixing Value to Possessions, Pictures, 
 &c. — Conclusion.
 
 THE 
 
 BIRTH OF FLATTERY. 
 
 Omnia habeo, nee quicquam habeo ; 
 
 Quidquid dicuat, laudo ; id rursum si negant^ laudo id quoque ; 
 
 Negat quis, nego ; ait, aio : 
 
 Postremo impeiavi egomet mihi 
 
 Omnia assentari. Terent, in Eunuch. 
 
 It has been held in antient Rules, 
 
 That Flattery is the Food of Fools ; 
 
 Yet now and then your Men of Wit 
 
 Will condescend to taste a Bii. Swift, 
 
 iVlUSE of my Spencer, who so well could sing, 
 
 The Passions all, their Bearings and their Ties ; 
 Who could in View those shadowy Beings bring, 
 
 And with bold Hand, leiuovc each dark Disguise, 
 Wherein Love, Hatred, Scorn, or Anger lies : 
 
 Guide him to Fair?/ Land, who now intends 
 That Way his Flight ; assist him as he flies, 
 
 To mark those Passions, Virtue's Foes and Friends, 
 By whom when led she droops, when leading she ascends.
 
 Yes ! they appear, I see the Fairy-Train ! 
 
 And who that modest Nymph of meek Address? 
 Not Fanitj/y though lov'd by all the Vain; 
 
 Not Hope, though promisiiiic to all, Success; 
 
 Nor il/iVfA, nox Joy, ihough Foe to all Distress; 
 Thte, sprightly Siren, fiom this Train I choose, 
 
 Tliy Birth rdate, thy soothing Arts confess, 
 'Tis not in thy mild Nature to refuse, 
 When Poets ask thine Aid, so oft their Meed and Muse, 
 
 In Fairy-Land, on wide and cheerless Plain, 
 Dwelt, in the House of Care, a sturdy Swain; 
 An hireling he, who when he till'd the Soil, 
 Look'd to the Pittance, that repay 'd his Toil; 
 And to a Master left the mingled Joy, 
 And anxious Care that follow'd his Employ ; 
 Sullen and patient lie at once appeared, 
 A^ one who murraur'd, yet as one who fear*d ; 
 Th' Attire was coarse that cloth'd his sinewy Frame,, 
 Rude his Address and Poxertj/ his Name. 
 
 In that same Plain a Nymph of curious Taste. 
 \ Cottage (plann'd with all her Skill) had plac'd •
 
 195 
 
 Strange tlie Materials and for what design'd 
 
 The various Parts, no simple Man might find ; 
 
 What seem'd the Door, each entering Guest withstood, 
 
 What seem'd a Window was but painted Wood ; 
 
 But by a secret Spring the Wall would move, 
 
 And Day-light drop through glassy Door above ; 
 
 'Twas all her Pride, new Traps for Praise to lay. 
 
 And all her Wisdom was to hide her Way ; 
 
 In small Attempts incessant were her Pains, 
 
 And Cunning was her Name among the Swains. 
 
 Now, whether Fate decreed this Pair should wedj 
 And blindly drove them to the Marriage-Bed; 
 Or whether Love in some soft Hour inclin'd 
 The Damsel's Heart and won her to be kind, 
 Is yQt unsung : they were an ill-match'd Pair, 
 But both dispos'd to wed and wed they were. 
 
 Yet though united in their Fortune, still 
 Their Ways were diverse, varying was their Will;, 
 Nor long the Maid had blest the simple Man, 
 Before Dissentions rose and she began : 
 
 *' Wretch that I am ! since to thy Fortune bound, 
 ^' What plan, what project with success is crown'd? 
 " I, who a tliousand secret Arts possess, 
 " Who every Rank approach with right Address j 
 
 o 2
 
 196 
 
 *^ WlioVe loos'd a Guinea from a Miser's Chest, 
 
 *' And ^Y(^ml'd bis Secret from a Traitor's Breast; 
 
 *• Thence Gifts and Gains collecting, great and small^ 
 
 " Have brought to thee and thou consum'st them all ; 
 
 " For Want like tliine, a Bog without a Base, 
 
 " Ingulph'st all gains, I gather for the Place; 
 
 *' Feeding, unfiU'd ; destroying, undestroy'd ; 
 
 " It craves for ever and is ever void : — 
 
 " "Wretch that I am ! Avhat Misery have I found, 
 
 " Since ray sure Craft was to thy Calling bound ?" 
 
 ' Oh! vaunt of worthless Arts,' the Swain replied, 
 Scowling Contempt, ' how pitiful this Pride ! 
 
 * What are these specious Gifts, these paltry Gains, 
 
 * But base Rewards for ignominious Pains? 
 
 * With all thy Tricking, still for Bread we strive, 
 
 * Thine is, proud Wretch! the Care thai cannot thrive, 
 ^ By all thy boasted Skill and baffled Hooks, 
 
 *• Thou gain'st no more than Students by their Books ; 
 ' No more than I for my poor Deeds am paid, 
 ' Whom none can blame, will help, or dare upbraid. 
 * Call this our Need, a Bog that all devours ; 
 
 * Then what thy petiy Arts, but Summer-Flowers, 
 
 * Gaudy and mean and serving to betray 
 
 ' The Place, they make unprofitably gay ? 
 ^ Who know it not, some useless Beauties see; 
 ^ But ah ! to prove it was rcserv'd for me.'
 
 197 
 
 tJnliappy Siate ! tbat, in Decay of Love, 
 Permits harsh Truth his Errors to disprove : 
 While he reniaius, to wrangle and to jar, 
 Is friendly Tournament not fatal War ; 
 Love in his Play will borrow Arms of Hate, 
 Anger and Rage, Upbraiding and Debate ; 
 And by his Power the desperate Weapons thrown^ 
 Become as safe and pleasant as his own; 
 But left by him, their Natures they assume, 
 And fatal, in their poisoning Force, become. 
 
 Time fled, and now the Swain corapeird to sec 
 New Cause for Fear — ' Is this thy Thrift ?' quoth he. 
 To whom the Wife with cheerful voice replied : -— 
 
 " Thou moody Man, lay all thy Fears aside, 
 *' I 've seen a Vision ; —they from whom I came, 
 *' A Daughter promise, promise Wealth and Fame; 
 ^' Born with ray Features, with my Arts, yet she 
 *' Shall patient, pliant, persevering be, 
 " And in thy better Ways resemble thee. 
 *^ The Fairies round shall at her Birth attend, 
 " The Friend of all in all shall find a Friend, 
 " And save that one sad Star that Hour must gleam 
 *' On our fair Child, how glorious were my Dream!" 
 
 This heard the Husband and in surly smile, 
 Aim'd fit Contempt, but yet he hop'd the while ;
 
 198 
 
 For as "when sinking, wretched Men are found, 
 To catch at Rushes rather than be drown'd ; 
 So on a Dream our Peasant plac'd his Hope, 
 And found that Rush as valid as a Rope. 
 
 Swift fled the Days, for now in Hope they fled; 
 When a fair Daughter bless'd the Nuptial Bed ; 
 Her Infant-face the Mother's Pains beguil'd, 
 She look'd so pleasing and so softly srail'd; 
 Those Smiles, those Looks, with sweet Sensations mov'd 
 The Gazer's Soul, and as he look'd, he lov'd. 
 
 And now the Fairies came with Gifts to grace, 
 So mild a Nature and so fair a Face. 
 
 They gave, with Beauty, that bewitching Art, 
 That holds in easy Chains the human Heart ; 
 They gave her Skill to win the stubborn Mind, 
 To make the Suffering to their Sorrows blind. 
 To bring on pensive Looks the pleasing Smile, 
 And Care's stern Brow of every Frown beguile. 
 
 These magic Favours grac'd the Infant-maid, 
 Whose more enlivening Smile, the charming (jifls repaid. 
 
 Now Fortune chang'd, who, were she constant long, 
 Would leave us few Adventures for our Song. 
 
 A wicked Elfin rov'd this Land around. 
 Whose Joys proceeded from the Griefs he found ;
 
 199 
 
 tlnv2/ his Name : — his fascinating Eye, 
 
 From the light Bosom drew the sudden Sigh; 
 
 Unsocial he, but with malignant Mind, 
 
 He dwelt with Man, that he might curse Mankind ; 
 
 Like the first Foe he sought th' Abode of Joy, 
 
 Griev'd to behold but eager to destroy ; 
 
 Round blooming Beauty, like the Wasp, he flew, 
 
 Soil'd the fresh Sweet and chang'd the rosy Hue ; 
 
 The Wise, the Good, with anxious Heart, he saw. 
 
 And here a Failing found and there a Flaw; 
 
 Discord in Families 'twas his to move, 
 
 Distrust in Friendship, Jealousy in Love ; 
 
 He told the Poor, what Joys the Great possessed. 
 
 The Great — what calm Content the Cottage bless'd ; 
 
 To part the Learned and the Rich he tried, 
 
 Till their slow Friendship perish'd in their Pride. 
 
 Such was the Fiend, and so secure of Prey, 
 
 That only Misery pass'd unstung away. 
 
 Soon as he heard the Fairy-babe was born, 
 Scornful he smil'd, but felt no more than Scorn ; 
 For why, when Fortune plac'd her State so low. 
 In useless Spite his lofty Malice show ? 
 Why in a Mischief of the meaner Kind, 
 Exhaust the Vigour of a rancorous Mind ? 
 But soon as Fame the Fairy-gifts proclaim'd, 
 Quick-rising Wrath his ready Soul inflam'd;
 
 200 
 
 To swear by Vows, that ev'n the Wicked tie^ 
 
 The Nymph should weep her varied Destiny ; 
 
 That every Gift, that now appear'd to shine 
 
 In her fliir Face and make her Smiles divine, 
 
 Should all, the Poison of his Magic prove, 
 
 And they should scorn her, whom she sought for Love. 
 
 His Spell prepar'd, in Form an antient Dame, 
 A Fiend in Spirit, to the Cot he came; 
 There gain'd Admittance and the Infant prgss'd, 
 (Muttering his wicked Magic) to his Breast; 
 And thus he said : — " Of all the Powers, -who wait 
 '^ On Jove's Decrees and do the Work of Fate, 
 '' Was I alone, despis'd or worthless, found, 
 '* Weak to protect or impotent to wound ? 
 '' See then thy Foe, regret the Friendship lost, 
 ^^ And learn my Skill but learn it at your Cost. 
 
 *' Know then, O Child! devote to Fates severe, 
 " The Good shall hate thy Name, the Wise shall fear; 
 '' Wit shall deride and no protecting Friend 
 " Thy Shame shall cover or thy Name defend. 
 ^' Thy gentle Sex, who, more than ours, should spare 
 *' An humble Foe, will greater Scorn declare; 
 " The Base alone thy Advocates sliall be, 
 " Or boast Alliance with a Wretch like thee."
 
 201 
 
 He spake and vanish 'd, other Prey to find, 
 And waste in slow Disease the conquer'd Mind. 
 
 Aw'd by the Elfin's Threats, and fill'd with dread, 
 The Parents wept and sought their Infant's Bed ; 
 Despair alone the Father's Soul possess'd j 
 But Hope rose gently in the Mother's Breast ; 
 For well she knew that neither Grief nor Joy, 
 Pain'd without Hope or pleas'd without Alloy ; 
 And while these Hopes and Fears her Heart divide, 
 A cheerful Vision bade tlie Fears subside. 
 
 She saw desGending to the World below, 
 An antient Form witli solemn Pace and slow. 
 
 '* Daughter, no more be sad," (the Phantom cried,) 
 '' Success is seldom to the Wise denied ; 
 '^ In idle Wishes Fools supinely stay, 
 ^^ Be there a Will and Wisdom finds a Way ; 
 '' Why art thou griev'd ? Be rather glad, that he, 
 " Who hates the happy aims his Darts at thee ; 
 '^ But aims in vain ; thy favour'd Daughter lies, 
 '' Serenely blest and shall to Joy arise. 
 *' For, grant that Curses on her Name shall wait, 
 ** (So Envy wills and such the voice of Fate,) 
 *' Yet if that Name be prudently suppress'd, 
 ** She shall be courted, favour'd, and caress'd.
 
 202 
 
 " For what are Names ? and where agree MankitiJ, 
 " In those to Persons or to Acts assign'd ? 
 " Brave, learn'd or wise, if some their Favourites call^ 
 " Have they the Titles or the Praise from all? 
 <' Not so, but others will the Brave disdain 
 " As rash, and deem the Sons of Wisdom, vain ; 
 " The self-same Mind shall Scorn or Kindness move, 
 *' And the same Deed attract Contempt and Love. 
 
 " So all the Powers, who move the human Soul, 
 " With all the Passions, who the Will controul, 
 " Have various Names. — One giv'n by Truth divine^ 
 " (As Simulation thus was fix'd for mine,) 
 " The rest by Man, who now as Wisdom's prize 
 *' My secret Counsels, now as Art despise ; 
 *' One hour as just, those Counsels they embrace, 
 " And spurn, the next, as pitiful and base. 
 
 *' Thee too, my Child, those Fools as Cunning fly, 
 '• Who on thy Counsel and thy Craft rely, 
 " That worthy Craft in others they condemn : 
 " But 'tis their Prudence, while conducting them. 
 
 " Be Flattery, then, thy happy Infant's Name, 
 ** Let Honour scorn her and let Wit defame ; 
 " Let all be true that Envy dooms, yet all, 
 " Not on herself, but on her Name, shall fall ; 
 *' While she thy Fortune and her own shall raise, 
 " And decent Truth be call'd and lov'd, as modest 
 Praise,
 
 203 
 
 <' O happy Child ! the glorious Day shall shine, 
 *' When every Ear shall to thy Speech incline, 
 " Thy Words alluring and the Voice divine : 
 *' The sullen Pedant and the sprightly Wit, 
 *' To hear thy soothing Eloquence, shall sit ; 
 " And both, abjuring Flattery, will agree, 
 *' That Truth inspires and they must honour Ihee. 
 
 *' Ercdjj himself shall to thy Accents bend, 
 ** Force a faint smile and sullenly attend, 
 " When thou shalt call him Virtues jealous Friendy 
 *^ Whose Bosom glows with generous rage to find, 
 *' How Fools and Knaves are flatter'd by Mankind. 
 
 " The Sage retir'd, who spends alone his Days, 
 " And flies th' obstreperous Voice of public Praise; 
 " The vain, the vulgar Cry, — shall gladly meet, 
 '' And bid thee welcome to his still Retreat ; 
 " Much will he wonder, how thou cam'st to find 
 *' A Man to Glory dead, to Peace consign'd. 
 " O Fame ! he'll cry, (for he will call thee Fame,) 
 " From thee I fly, from thee conceal my Name ; 
 " But thou shalt say, Though Genius takes his Fligh(; 
 ^^ He leaves behind a glorious Train of Light, 
 ** And hides in vain : — yet prudent he that flies 
 '* The Flatterer's Art, and for himself is wise. 
 
 *' Yes, happy Child ! I mark th' approaching Day.. 
 '^' When warring Natures will confess thy Sway ;
 
 s 
 
 204. 
 
 * When tboti slialt Saturn's golden Reign rcstorcj 
 ' And Vice and Folly shall be known no more. 
 
 " Pride shall not then in Human-kind have place, 
 ' Chang'd by thy Skill, to Dignitj/ and Grace ; 
 ' While Shame, tvho now betfays the inward Sense 
 
 Of secret 111, shall be thy DiJJidaice ; 
 
 Ararice shall thenceforth prudent Forecast be, 
 ^ And bloody Vengeance^ Mag)7anhnity ; 
 ' The lavish Tongue shall honest Truths impart, ^ 
 ' The lavish Hand shall show the generous Heart, 
 
 And Indiscretion be, Contempt of Art : 
 
 Folly a[nd Tice shall then, no longer known, 
 
 * Be, this as Virtue, that as Wisdom, shown. 
 " Then shall the Bobber, as the Hero rise 
 To seize the Good, that churlish Law denies ; 
 Throughout the World shall rove the generous Band, 
 And deal the Gifts of Heaven from hand to hand. 
 
 " In thy blest Days no Tyrants shall be seen, 
 Thy gracious Kings shall rule contented Men ; 
 In thy blest Days shall not a Rebel be, 
 ^ But Patriots all and well approv'd of thee. 
 " Such Powers are thine, that Man, by thee, shall wrest 
 
 * The gainful Secret from the cautious Breast ; 
 ' Nor then, with all his care, the Good retain, 
 ' But yield to thee the Secret and the Gain. 
 
 ^ In vain, shall much Experience guard the Heart, 
 ' Against the Charm of thy prevailing Art ;
 
 205 
 
 ** Admitted once, so soothing is thy Strain, 
 ^' It comes the sweeter, when it comes again ; 
 '' And when confestas thine, what Mind so strong", 
 *' Forbears t'ne Pleasure it indulg'd so long ? 
 
 " Soft'ner of every 111 ! of all our Woes 
 ^' The balmy Solace ! Friend of fiercest Foes! 
 ^' Begin thy Reign and like the Morning rise ; 
 '' Bring Joy, bring Beauty, to our eager Eyes; 
 '-^ Break on the drowsy World like opening Day, 
 '' While Grace and Gladness join thy flow'ry Way ; 
 '^ While every Voice i's Praise, while every Heart is gaj'. 
 , *' From thee, all Prospects shall new Beauties take, 
 *' 'Tis thine to seek them and 'tis thine to make; 
 '-^ On the cold Fen, I see thee turn thine Eyes, 
 '* Its Mists recede, its chilling Vapour flies; 
 " Th' enraptur'd Lord tli' improving Ground surveys, 
 " And for his Eden, asks the Traveller's Praise, 
 " Which ^^i^ unview'd of thee, a Bog had been, 
 " Where spungy Rushes hide the plashy Green. 
 
 *' I see thee breatliing on the barren Moor, 
 *•'• That seems to bloom although so bleak before; 
 *' There if beneath the Gorze the Primrose spring, ' 
 *' Or the pied Daisj/ smile below the Ling, 
 " They shall new Chajms, at thy Command, disclose, 
 *' And none shall miss the Myrtle or the Rose. 
 " The wiry Moss, that whitens all the Hill, 
 " Shall live a Beauty by thy matchless Skill ;
 
 206 
 
 ** Gale * from the Bog shall yield Arabian Balm, 
 " And the Gref/ Willow wave a golden Palm. 
 
 " I see thee smiling in the pictur'd Room, 
 *' Now breathing Beauty, now reviving Bloom ; 
 " There, each immortal Name, 'tis thine to give, 
 " To graceless Forms, and bid the Lumber live. 
 *' Should'st thou coarse Boors or gloomy Martyrs see, 
 *' These shall thy Guidos, those thy Tennkrs be ; 
 " There shalt thou, Raphatrs Saints and Angels trace, 
 '' There make for Reubens and for Reynolds place, 
 " And all the Pride of Art shall find in her. Disgrace. 
 
 " Delight of either Sex ! thy Reign commence ; 
 *' With balmy Sweetness, soothe the weary Sense, 
 ' And to the sickening Soul thy cheering Aid dispense. 
 *' Queen of the Mind! thy golden Age begin; -v 
 
 " In mortal Bosoms varnish Shame and Sin, \. 
 
 *' Let all be fair without, let all be calm within." ) 
 
 The Vision fled, the happy Mother rose, 
 Kiss'd the fair Infant, smil'd at all her Foes, 
 And Flattery made her Name : — Her Reign beganj 
 Her own dear Sex she rul'd, then vanquish 'd Man; 
 A smiling Friend, to every Class, she spoke, 
 Assura'd their Manners and their Habits took ; 
 
 ** <' Myrica Gale," a shrub growing in boggy and fenny grounds.
 
 207 
 
 Her, for her humble Mien, the Modest lov*d ; 
 Her cheerful Looks, the Light and Gay approved j 
 The Just beheld her, firm ; the Valiant, brave ; 
 Her Mirth the Free, her Silence pleas'd the Grave ; 
 Zeal heard her Voice, and as he preach'd aloud, 
 Well-pleas'd he caught her Whispers from the Crowd. 
 (Those Whispers soothing-sweet to every Ear, 
 Which some refuse to pay, but none to hear) : 
 Shame fled her Presence ; at her gentle Strain, 
 Care softly smil'd and Guilt forgot its Pain ; 
 The Wretched thought, the Happy found her true, 
 The LearnM confess'd, that she their Merits knew; 
 The Rich — could they a constant Friend condemn? 
 Jhe Poor believ'd — for who should flatter them ? 
 
 Thus on her Name, while all Disgrace attend, 
 Jn every Creature she beholds a Friend.
 
 REFLECTIONS 
 
 UPON THE SUBJECT 
 
 S,uidjuTat err ores, mersdjam puppe,fateri ? 
 Quid lacryma delicto juvant commissa secuta ? 
 
 Claudian. in Eutropium, lib. ii. Im. 7. 
 
 What avails it when shipwreck' d, that errot appears ? 
 Are the crimes we commit, wash'd away by our tears ? 

 
 :a 

 
 3^eatttiott0» 
 
 Quid j«vat errores, niersa jam puppe, fateri? 
 Quid lacrymae dglicta juvant commissa secutos ?" 
 
 Claudian. in Eutrop. lib. ii, liji. 7. 
 
 When all the fiercer Passions cease, 
 
 (The Glory and Disgrace of Youth,) 
 When the deluded Soul in peace, 
 
 Can listen to the Voice of Truth ; 
 When we are taught in whom to trust, 
 
 And how to spare, to spend, to give ; 
 (Our Prudence kind, our Pity just,) 
 
 'Tis then we rightly learn to live. 
 
 Its Weakness when the Body feels. 
 Nor Danger in Contempt defies ; 
 
 To Reason, when Desire appeals. 
 When on Experience, Hope relies | 
 p 2
 
 212 
 
 When every passing Hour we prize, 
 
 Nor rashly on oar Follies spend ; 
 But use it as it quickly flies, 
 
 With sober Aim, to serious End : 
 When Prudence bounds our utmost Views, 
 
 And bids us Wrath and Wrong forgive ; 
 When we can calmly gain or lose, 
 
 'Tis tlicn we rightly learn to live. 
 
 Yet thus when we our Way discern, 
 
 And can upon our Care depend. 
 To travel safely, when we learn. 
 
 Behold ! we're near our Journey's End. 
 We've trod the Maze of Error round, 
 
 Long wand'ring in the winding Glade ; 
 And now the Torch of Truth is found, 
 
 It only shews us where we stray 'd : 
 Light for ourselves, what is it worth 
 
 When we no more our Way can choose ? 
 For others when we hold it forth. 
 
 They in their pride, the Boon refuse. 
 
 By long Experience taught, we now 
 Can rightly judge of Friends and Foes, 
 
 Can all the Worth of these allow, 
 And all their Faults discern in those ;
 
 213 
 
 Relentless Hatred, erring Love, 
 
 We can for sacred Truth forego ; 
 We can the warmest Friend reprove, 
 
 And bear to praise the fiercest Foe : 
 To what effect ? our Friends are gone, 
 
 Beyond Reproof, Regard, or Care ; 
 And of our Foes remains there one, 
 
 The mild relenting Thoughts to share ? 
 
 Now 'tis our boast that we can quell 
 
 The wildest Passions in their Rage; 
 Can their destructive Force repel, 
 
 And their impetuous Wrath assuage : 
 Ah ! Virtue, dost thou arm when now. 
 
 This bold rebellious Race are fled ; 
 When all these Tyrants rest, and thou 
 
 Art warring with the mighty Dead ? 
 Revenge, Ambition, Scorn, and Pride, 
 
 And strong Desire and fierce Disdain, 
 The Giant-brood by thee defied, 
 
 Lo ! Time's resistless Strokes have slain. 
 
 Yet Time, who could that Race subdue, 
 (O'erpow'ring Strength, appeasing Rage,) 
 
 Leaves yet a persevering Crew, 
 To try the failing Powers of Age ;
 
 214 
 
 Vex'd by the constant Call of these, 
 
 Virtue awhile for Conquest tries, 
 But weary grown and fond of Ease, 
 
 She makes mth them a Compromise; 
 Av'rice himself she gives to Rest, 
 
 But rules him with her strict Commands ; 
 Bids Pity touch his torpid Breast, 
 
 And Justice hold his eager Hands. 
 
 Yet is there nothing Men can do, 
 
 When chilling Age comes creeping on ? 
 Cannot we yet some Good pursue ? 
 
 Are Talents buried ? Genius gone? 
 If Passions slumber in the Breast, 
 
 If Follies from the Heart be fled ; 
 Of Laurels let us go in quest, 
 
 And place them on the Poet's Head. 
 
 Yes, we'll redeem the wasted Time, "" 
 
 And to neglected Studies flee ; 
 We'll build again the lofty Rhyme 
 
 Or live, Philosophy, with Thee ; 
 For Reasoning clear, for Flight sublime. 
 
 Eternal Fame Reward shall be ; 
 And to what glorious Heights we'll climb, 
 
 Th' admiring Crowd shall envying see.
 
 215 
 
 Begin the Song ! begin the Theme ! — 
 
 Alas ! and is Invention dead ? 
 Dream we no more the golden Dream ? 
 
 Is Mem'ry with her Treasures fled ? 
 Yes ! 'tis too late, — now Reason guides 
 The Mind, sole Judge in all Debate ; 
 And thus th' important Point decides, 
 For Laurels, 'tis, alas ! too late. 
 
 What is possest, we may retain, 
 
 But for new Conquests strive in vain. 
 
 Beware then Age, that what was won, 
 In Life's past Labours, Studies, Views, 
 
 Be lost not, now the Labour's done. 
 When all thy Part is, — not to lose: 
 
 When thou canst toil or gain no more. 
 Destroy not what was gain'd before. 
 
 For, all that 's gain'd of all that's Good, 
 
 When Time shall his weak Frame destroy, 
 (Their Use then rightly understood,) 
 
 Shall Man, in happier State, enjoy. 
 Oh ! Argument for Truth divine. 
 
 For Study's Cares, lor Virtues Strife ; 
 To know th' Enjoyment will be thine. 
 
 In that renew'd, that endless Life !
 
 SIR EUSTACE GREY : 
 
 31 |9ocm. 
 
 


 
 SIR EUSTACE GREY. 
 
 Scene. — a madhouse. 
 
 VISITOR, PHYSICIAN, AND PATIENT. 
 
 Veris miscens falsa. — 
 
 Seneca in Here, furentc 
 
 VISITOR. 
 
 I'LL know no more ; — the Heart is torn 
 
 By Views of Woe, we cannot heal ; ^, 
 
 Long shall I see these Things forlorn, 
 
 And oft again their Griefs shall feel, 
 
 As each upon the Mind shall steal; 
 That wan Projector's mj-stic St jlej 
 
 That lumpish Idiot leering by, ^ ^ 
 
 That peevish Idler's ceaseless Wile, 
 
 And that poor Maiden's half-form'd Smile, 
 While struggling for the full-drawn Sigh ! --- 
 
 I'll know no more.
 
 220 
 
 PHYSICIAN. 
 
 ---Yes, turn again ; 
 Then speed to liappier Scenes thy Way, 
 
 When thou hast view'd, what yet remain, 
 The Ruins of Sir Eustace Orej/, 
 
 The Sport of Madness, Misery's Prey : 
 But he will no Historian need, 
 
 His Cares, his Crimes will he display, 
 And shew (as one from Frenzy freed) 
 
 The proud-lost Mind, the rash-done Deed. 
 
 That Cell, to him is Grei/lwg Hall: — 
 
 Approach ; he'll bid thee welcome there ; 
 Will sometimes for his Servant call, 
 
 And sometimes point the vacant Chair: 
 He can, with free and easy air. 
 
 Appear attentive and polite ; 
 Can veil his Woes in Manners fair. 
 
 And Pity with Respect excite. 
 
 PATIENT. 
 
 Who comes ? — Approach ! — 'Tis kindly done i 
 My learn'd Physician, and a Friend, 
 
 Tiieir Pleasures quit, to visit One, 
 Who cannot to their Ease attend.
 
 221 
 
 Nor Joys bestow, nor Comforts lend, 
 As when I liv'd so blest, so well. 
 
 And dream'd not, I must soon contend 
 With those malignant Powers of Hell. 
 
 PHYSICIAN. 
 
 *' Less warmth, Sir Eustace, or we go."-^ 
 
 PATIENT. 
 
 See ! I am calm as Infant-Love, 
 A very Child, but one of Woe, 
 
 Whom you should pity, not reprove : — 
 But Men at ease, who never strove 
 
 With Passions wild, will calmly show, 
 How soon we may their Ills remove, 
 
 And Masters of their Madness grow. 
 
 Some twenty Years I think are gone, — 
 
 (Time flies, I know not how, away,) 
 The Sun upon no happier shone, 
 
 Nor prouder Man, than Eustace Grey, 
 Ask where you would, and all would say. 
 
 The Man admir'd and prais'd of all. 
 By Rich and Poor, by Grave and Gay, 
 
 Was the young Lord of Greyling Hall. 
 
 M 
 
 1f-i» 

 
 222 
 
 Yes ! I had Youth and rosy Health ; 
 
 Was nobly form'd, as Man might be ; 
 For Sickness then, of all my Wealth, 
 
 I never gave a single Fee : 
 The Ladies fair, the Maidens free, 
 
 Were all accustora'd then to say. 
 Who would an handsome Figure see, 
 
 Should look upon Sir Eustace Grey, 
 
 He had a frank and pleasant Look, 
 
 A cheerful Eye and Accent bland ; 
 His very Speech and Manner spoke 
 
 The generous Heart, the open Hand ; 
 About him all was gay or grand. 
 
 He had the Praise of Great and Small ; 
 He bought, impvov'd, projected, plann'd. 
 
 And reign'd a Prince at Grer/lwg Hall. 
 
 My Lady ! — she was all we love ; 
 
 All Praise (to speak her Worth) is faint 
 Her Manners shew'd the yielding Dove, 
 
 Her Morals, the seraphic Saint ; 
 She never brcath'd nor look'd Complaint, 
 
 No Equal upon Earth had she : - - - 
 Now, what is this fair Thing I paint ? 
 
 Alas! as all that live, shall be. 
 
 *■». 
 
 .*• 
 
 iM
 
 223 
 
 There was beside, a gallant Yoiitb, 
 
 And him my Bosom's Friend, I had :- -• 
 Oh ! I was rich — in very truth. 
 
 It made me proud — it made me mad I — 
 Yes I was lost — but there was Cause ! - - - - 
 
 Where stood my Tale ? — I cannot find— • 
 But I had all Mankind's Applause, 
 
 And all the Smiles of Womankind. 
 
 There were two Cherub-things beside, 
 
 A gracious Girl, a glorious Boy ; 
 Yet more to swell my full-blown Pride, 
 
 To varnish higher my fading Joy, 
 Pleasures were ours without alloy. 
 
 Nay Paradise, till my frail Eve 
 
 Our Bliss was tempted to destroy ; 
 
 Deceiv'd and fated to deceive. 
 
 But I deserv'd ; for all that time. 
 
 When I was lov'd, admir'd, caress'd, 
 There was within, each secret Crime, 
 
 Unfelt, uncancell'd, unconfess'd; 
 I' never then my God address'd, /j^ ^ 
 
 In grateful Praise or humble Prayer ; 2fi 
 
 And if His Word was not my Jest ! "^W^r^ 
 
 (Dread thought !) it never was my Care.
 
 224 
 
 1 doubted : — Fool I was to doubt ! 
 
 If that all-piercing Eye could see, — 
 If He who looks all Worlds throughout, 
 
 Would so minute and careful be, 
 As to perceive and punish me : — 
 
 With Man 1 would be great and highj 
 But with my God so lost, that He, 
 
 In his large View, should pass me by. 
 
 Thus blest with Children, Friend, and Wife, 
 
 Blest far beyond the vulgar Lot ; 
 Of all that gladdens human Life, 
 
 Where was the Good, that I had not ? 
 But ray vile Heart had sinful Spot, 
 
 And Heaven beheld its deep'ning Stain, 
 Eternal Justice I forgot. 
 
 And Mercy, sought not to obtain. 
 
 Come near, — I'll softly speak the rest ! — 
 
 Alas ! 'tis known io all the Crowd, 
 Her guilty Love was all confest ; 
 
 And his, who so much Truth avow'd. 
 My faithless Friends. — In Pleasure proud 
 
 I sat, when these curs'd Tidings came ; 
 Their Guilt, their Flight was told qjoud, 
 
 And Envy smil'd to hear my shame ! 
 
 •»-* 
 4
 
 225 
 
 i caird oa Vengeance ; at the Word 
 
 She came : — Can J the Deed forget ? 
 I held the Sword, th' accursed Sword, 
 
 The Blood of his false Heart made wet ; 
 And that fair Victim paid her Debt, 
 
 She pin'd, she died, she loath'd to live; - • 
 I saw her dying — see her yet : 
 
 Fair fallen Thing ! my Rage forgive ! 
 
 Those Cherubs still, my Life to bless. 
 
 Were left ; could I my Fears remove, 
 Sad Fears that check'd each fond Caress, 
 
 And poison'd all parental Love : 
 Yet that, with jealous Feelings strove. 
 
 And would at last have won my Will, 
 Had I not, Wretch ! been doom'd to prove 
 
 Th' Extremes of mortal Good and 111. 
 
 In Youth! Health! Joy! in Beauty's Pride ! 
 
 They droop'd: As Flowers when blighted bow, 
 The dire Infection came : — They died, 
 
 And I was curs'd — as I am now 
 
 Nay frown not, angry Friend, — allow, 
 
 That I was deeply, sorely tried ; 
 Hear then, and you must wonder how 
 
 I could such Storms and Strifes abide. 
 
 Q
 
 226 
 
 Storms ! — not that Clouds embattled make, 
 
 When they afflict this earthly Globe; 
 But such as with their Terrors shake 
 
 Man's Breast, and to the bottom probe ; 
 They make the Hypocrite disrobe, 
 
 They try us all, if false or true ; 
 For this, one Devil had pow'r on Job ; 
 
 And I was long the Slave of two. 
 
 PHYSICIAN. 
 
 Peace, peace, my Friend ; these Subjects fly ; 
 Collect thy Thoughts — go calmly on. — 
 
 PATIENT. 
 
 And shall I then the Fact deny ? 
 
 I was, — thou know'st, — I was begone, 
 Like him who fiU'd the Eastern Throne, 
 
 To whom the Watcher cried aloud* ; 
 That royal Wretch of Babf/loriy 
 
 Who was so guilty and so proud. 
 
 Like him with haughty, stubborn Mind, 
 I, in my State, my Comforts sought; 
 
 Delight and Praise I hop'd to find, 
 In what I builded, planted, boughtl 
 
 * P; 
 
 rophecy of Daniel, chap. iv. 9,?.
 
 227 
 
 Oh ! Arrogance ! by Misery taught — • 
 Soon came a Voice ! I felt it come ; 
 
 " Full be his Cup, with Evil fraught, 
 *' Daemons his Guides, and Death his Doom l" 
 
 Then was I cast from out my State ; 
 
 Two Fiends of Darkness led my Way; 
 They wak'd me early, watch 'd me late, 
 
 My Dread by Night, my Plague by Day ! 
 Oh ! I was made their Sport, their Play, 
 
 Through many a stormy troubled Year, 
 And how they us'd their passive Prey, 
 
 Is sad to tell : but you shall hear. 
 
 And first, before they sent me forth. 
 
 Through this unpitying World to run, 
 They robb'd Sir Eustace of his Worth, 
 
 Lands, Manors, Lordships, every one ; 
 So was that gracious Man undone. 
 
 Was spurn'd as vile, was scorn'd as poor, 
 Whom every former Friend would shun, 
 
 And Menials drove from every Door. 
 
 Then those ill-favour'd Ones*, whom none 
 But my unhappy T-yes coul(' view, '' 
 
 * Vide Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress 
 Q 2
 
 Led mc, with wild Emotion on, 
 And, with resistless Terror, drew. 
 
 Through Lands we fled, o'er Seas we flew, 
 And halted on a boundless Plain; 
 
 Where nothing fed, nor breath'd nor grew, 
 But Silence rul'd the still Domain. 
 
 Upon that boundless Plain, below, 
 
 The setting Sun's last Rays were shed. 
 And gave a mild and sober Glow, 
 
 Where all were still, asleep or dead ; 
 Vast Ruins in the midst were spread, 
 
 Pillars and Pediments sublime, 
 Where the grey Moss had form'd a Bed, 
 
 And cloth'd the crumbling Spoils of Time, 
 
 There was I fix'd, I know not how, 
 
 Condemn'd for untold Years to stay ; 
 Yet Years were not ; — one dreadful Nou^ 
 
 Endur'd no Change of Night or Day ; 
 'Uhe same mild Evening's sleeping Ray, 
 
 Shone softly -solemn and serene. 
 And all that time, I gaz'd away, 
 
 The setting Suit's sad Rays were seen
 
 229 
 
 At length a Moment's Sleep stole on, — 
 
 Again came ray coramission'd Foes ; 
 Again through Sea and Land we 're gone. 
 
 No Peace, no Respite, no Repose ; 
 Above the dark broad Sea we rose, 
 
 We ran through bleak and frozen Land ; 
 I had no Strength, their Strength t' oppose, 
 
 An Infant in a Giant's hand. 
 
 They plac'd me where those Streamers play. 
 
 Those nimble Beams of brilliant Light; 
 It would the stoutest Heart dismay, 
 
 To see, to feel, that dreadful Sight : 
 So swift, so pure, so cold, so bright. 
 
 They pierc'd my Frame with icy Wound, 
 And all that half-year's polar Night, 
 
 Those dancing Streamers wrapt me round. 
 
 Slowly that Darknes-s pass'd away. 
 
 When down upon the Earth 1 fell, — 
 Some hurried Sleep, was mine by day ; 
 
 But soon as toU'd the Evening Bell, 
 They forc'd me on, where-ever dwell 
 
 Far-distant Men in Cities fair, 
 Cities of whom no Travellers tell, 
 
 Nor Feet but mine were Wanderers there.
 
 230 
 
 Their Watchmen stare, and stand aghast, 
 
 As on wc hurry through the dark ; 
 The Watch-light blinks, as we go past, 
 
 The Watch-dog shrinks and fears to bark ; 
 The Watch-tower's Bell sounds shrill ; and, hark I 
 
 The free Wind blows — we've left the Town — 
 A wide Sepulchral Ground I mark, 
 
 And on a Tomb-stone place me down. 
 
 What Monuments of mighty Dead! 
 
 What Tombs of various kinds are found ! 
 And Stones erect, their Shadows shed. 
 
 On humble Graves, with Wickers bound ; 
 Some risen fresh, abbve the Ground, 
 
 Some level With the native Clay, 
 What sleeping Millions wait the Sound, 
 
 " Arise, ye Dead, and come away !'* 
 
 Alas ! they stay not for that Call ; 
 
 Spare me this Woe ! ye Demons, spare ! — 
 They come! the shrowdcd Shadows all, — 
 
 'Tis more than mortal Brain can bear ! 
 Rustling they rise, they sternly glare 
 
 At Man upheld by vital Breath; 
 Who led by wicked Fiends sUould dare 
 
 To join the shadowy Troops of Death!
 
 231 
 
 Yes ! I have felt all Man can feel, 
 
 Till Le shall pay his Nature's Debt ; 
 Ills that no Hope has Strength to heal. 
 
 No Mind the Comfort to forget : 
 Whatever Cares the Heart can fret, 
 
 The Spirits wear, the Temper gall; 
 Woe, Want, Dread, Anguish, all beset 
 
 My sinful Soul ! — together all ! 
 
 Those Fiends, upon a shaking Fen, 
 
 Fix'd me, in dark tempestuous Night ; 
 There never trod the Foot of Men, 
 
 There flock'd the Fowl in wint'ry Flight ; 
 There danc'd the Moor's deceitful Light, 
 
 Above the Pool where Sedges grow ; 
 And when the Morning-Sun shone bright. 
 
 It shone upon a Field of Snow. 
 
 They hung me on a Bough, so small. 
 
 The Rook could build her Nest no higher j 
 They fix'd me on the trembling Ball, 
 
 That crowns the Steeple's quiv'ring Spire ; 
 They set me where the Seas retire, 
 
 But drown with their returning Tide; 
 And made me flee the Mountain's Fire, 
 
 When rolling from its burning Side-
 
 232 
 
 I 've hung upon the ridgy Steep 
 
 Of Cliffs, and held the rambling Brier ; 
 I 'vc plung'd below the billowy Deep, 
 
 Where Air was sent me to respire ; 
 I 've been where hungry Wolves retire ; 
 
 And (to complete my Woes) I've ran, 
 Where Bedlam's crazy Crew conspire 
 
 Against the Life of reasoning Man. 
 
 I've furl'd in Storms the flapping Sail, 
 
 By hanging from the Top-mast-head ; 
 I 've serv'd the vilest Slaves in Jail, 
 
 And pick'd the Dunghill's Spoil for Bread; 
 I 've made the Badger's Hole my Bed, 
 
 I've wander'd with a Gipsey Crew, 
 I 've dreaded all the Guilty dread, 
 
 And done what they would fear to do. 
 
 On Sand where ebbs and flows the Flood, 
 
 Midway they plac'd and bade me die; 
 Propt on my Staff, I stoutly stood 
 
 When the swift Waves came rolling by ; 
 And high they rose, and still more high, 
 
 Till my Lips drank the bitter Brine ; 
 I sobb'd convuls'd, then cast mine Eye 
 
 And saw the Tide's rc-fiowing Sign.
 
 23$ 
 
 And then, my Dreams were such as nought 
 
 Could yield but my unhappy Case ; 
 I 've been of thousand Devils caught, 
 
 And thrust into that horrid Place, 
 Where reign Dismay, Despair, Disgrace ; 
 
 Furies with iron Fangs were there. 
 To torture that accursed Race, 
 
 Doom'd to Dismay, Disgrace, Despair. 
 
 Harmless I was ; yet hunted down 
 
 For Treasons, to my Soul unfit ; 
 I 've been pursued through many a Town, 
 
 For Crimes that petty Knaves commit : 
 I 've been adjudg'd t' have lost my Wit, 
 
 Because I preach'd so loud and well, 
 And thrown into the Dungeon's Pit, 
 
 For trampling on the Pit of Hell. 
 
 Such were the Evils, Man of Sin, 
 
 That I was fated to sustain ; 
 And add to all, witliout — within, 
 
 A Soul defil'd with every Stain, 
 That Man's reflecting Mind can pain ; 
 
 That Pride, Wrong, Rage, Despair can make; 
 In fact, they'd nearly touch'd ray Brain, 
 
 And Reason on her Throne wouljl shake.
 
 234 
 
 But Pif J will the vilest eeek, 
 
 If punisli'd Guilt will not repine, — 
 I heard an heavenly Teacher speak, 
 
 And felt the Sun of Mercy shine : 
 I hail'd the Light ! the Birth divine ! 
 
 And then was seal'd among the few ; 
 Those angry Fiends beheld the Sign ; 
 
 And from me in an instant flew* 
 
 Come licar how thus, tlie Charmers cry. 
 
 To wandering Sheep the Strays of Sin ; 
 While some the Wicket-gate pass by, 
 
 And some will knock and enter in j 
 Full joyful 'tis a Soul to win, 
 
 For he that winneth Souls is wise ; 
 Now hark ! the holy Strains begin, 
 
 And thus the sainted Preacher cries* : - 
 
 * It has been suggested to me, that this change from restless- 
 ness to repose, in the mind of Sir Eustace, is wrought by a me- 
 thodistic call; and it is admitted to be such: a sober and ra- 
 tional conversion, could not have happened while the disorder of 
 the brain continued : Yet the verses wliich follow, in a different 
 measure, are not intended to make any religious Persuasion appear 
 ridiculous ; they are to be supposed as the effect of memory in 
 the disordered mind of the spcatcer, and though evidently enthu- 
 siastic, in respect to language, are not meant to convey any 
 impropriety of sentiment.
 
 235 
 
 *' Pilgrim burtlien'd with tliy Sifl, 
 
 " Come the way to Z ion's Gate, 
 
 " There, till Mercy lets thee in, 
 
 ** Knock and weep and watch and wait. 
 " Knock ! — He knows the Sinner's Cry ; 
 " Weep ! — He loves the Mourner's Tears 
 '' Watch! — for, saving Grace is nigh : 
 ** Wait, — till heavenly Light appears/' 
 
 '' Hark ! it is the Bridegroom's Voice j 
 *' Welcome, Pilgrim, to thy Rest; 
 " Now within the Gate rejoice, 
 *' Safe and seal'd and bought and blest ! 
 *' Safe — from all the Lures of Vice, 
 *' Seal'd — by Signs the Chosen know, 
 " Bought by Love and Life the Price, 
 *' Blest — the mighty Debt to owe. 
 
 *' Holy Pilgrim ! what for thee, 
 
 *' In a World like this remain ? 
 
 '' From thy guarded Breast shall flee, 
 
 " Fear and Shame, and Doubt and Pain, 
 " Fear — the Hope of Heaven shall fly. 
 *^ Shame — from Glory's View retire, 
 '' Doubt — in certain Rapture die, 
 " Pain — in endless Bliss expire."
 
 236 
 
 But though ray Day of Grace was come* 
 
 Yet still my Days of Grief I find ; 
 The former Clouds' collected Gloom, 
 
 Still sadden the reflecting Mind ; 
 The Soul to evil Things consigned, 
 
 Will of their Evil some retain ; 
 The Man will seem to Earth inclin'd, 
 
 And will not look erect again. 
 
 Thus, though elect, I feel it hard. 
 
 To lose what I possess 'd before, 
 To be from all my Wealth debar r'd,— 
 
 The brave Sir Eustace is no more ; 
 But old I wax and passing poor, 
 
 Stern, rugged Men my Conduct view ; 
 They chide my Wish, they bar my Door, 
 
 'Tis hard — I weep — you see I do. — 
 
 Must you, my Friends, no longer stay ? 
 
 Thus quickly all my Pleasures end ? 
 But I'll remember, when I pray, 
 
 My kind Physician and his Fric:; I ; 
 And those sad Hours, you deign to spend 
 
 With me, I shall requite them all ; 
 Sir Eustace for his Friends shall send. 
 
 And thank their Love at Greyling Hall.
 
 237 
 
 VISITOR. 
 
 The poor Sir Eustace 1 — Yet his Hope, 
 
 Leads him to think of Joys again ; 
 And when his Earthly Visions droop, 
 
 His Views of Heavenly Kind remain : — 
 But whence that meek and humbled Strain, 
 
 That Spirit wounded, lost, resign'd ; 
 Would not so proud a Soul disdain 
 
 The Madness of the poorest Mind ? 
 
 PHYSICIAN. 
 
 No ! for the more he swell'd with Pride, 
 
 The more he felt Misfortune's Blow ; 
 Disgrace and Grief he could not hide. 
 
 And Poverty had laid him low : 
 Thus Shame and Sorrow working slow, 
 
 At length this humble Spirit gave ; 
 Madness on these began to grow. 
 
 And bound him to his Fiends a Slave. 
 
 Though the wild Thoughts had touch'd his Brain, 
 Then was he free : — So, forth he ran ; 
 
 To soothe or threat, alike were vain ; 
 
 He spake of Fiends ; look'd wild and wan ; 
 
 Year after year, the hurried Man 
 
 Obey'd those Fiends from place to place ;
 
 5238 
 
 Till his religious Change began 
 To form a frenzied Child of Grace. 
 
 For, as the Fury lost its Strength, 
 
 The Mind repos'd ; by slow Degrees, 
 Came lingering Hope, and brought at length, 
 
 To the tormented Spirit, Ease : 
 This Slave of Sin, "whom Fiends could seize, 
 
 Felt or believ'd their Power had end ;— 
 '' 'Tis faith," he cried, " my Bosom frees, 
 
 " And now my Saviour is my Friend.** 
 
 But ah ! though Time can yield Relief, 
 
 And soften Woes it cannot cure ; 
 Would we not suffer Pain and Grief, 
 
 To have our Reason sound and sure ? 
 Then let us keep our Bosoms pure. 
 
 Our Fancy's favourite Flights suppress ; 
 Prepare the Body to endure. 
 
 And bend the Mind to meet Distress ; 
 And then His Guardian Care implore. 
 Whom Dajmons dread and Men adore.
 
 Tiiii: 
 
 HALL OF JUSTICE.
 
 THE 
 
 HALL OF JUSTICE. 
 
 ^art tSe f irsrt. 
 
 Confiteor facere hoc annos ; sed et altera causa est, 
 Anxietas animi, coutinuusque dolor. 
 
 0\«D. 
 
 MAGISTRATE, VAGRANT, CONSTABI^, &C. 
 VAGRANT. 
 
 1 AKE, take away thy barbarous Hand, 
 
 And let me to thy Master speak ; 
 Remit awhile the harsh Command, 
 
 And hear me, or my Heart will break. 
 
 MAGISTRATE. 
 
 Fond Wretch ! and what canst thou relate, 
 But Deeds of Sorrow, Shame, and Sin ? 
 
 Thy Crime is prov'd, thou know'st thy Fate ; 
 But come, thy Tale ! begin, begin ! —- 
 
 K
 
 242 
 
 VAGRANT. 
 
 My Crime ! This sick'ning Child to feed, 
 
 I seiz'd the Food, your Witness saw ; 
 
 I knew yo ir Laws forbad tlie Deed, 
 But yielded to a stronger Law. 
 
 Know'st thou, to Nature's great Command, 
 All human Laws are frail and weak ? 
 
 Nay! frown not — stay his eager Hand, 
 And hear me, or my Heart will break. 
 
 In this, th' adopted Babe I hold, 
 
 W ith anxious Fondness to my Breast, 
 
 My Heart's sole Comfort, I behold. 
 
 More dear than Life, when Life was blest, 
 
 I saw her pining, fainting, cold, 
 
 I begg'd — but vain was my Request. 
 
 I saw the tempting Food, and seiz'd — 
 My Infant- Sufferer found Relief; 
 
 And, in the pilfer'd Treasure pleas'd, 
 
 Smil'd on my Guilt and hush'd my Grief. 
 
 But I have Griefs of other Kind, 
 Troubles and Sorrows more severe ; 
 
 Give me to ease my tortur'd Mind, 
 Jjcnd to my Woes a patient ear ;
 
 243 
 
 And let me — if I may not find 
 A Friend to help — find one to hear. 
 
 Yet nameless let me plead — ray Name 
 Would only wake the Cry of Scorn ; 
 
 A Child of Sin, conceiv'd in Shame, 
 Brought forth in Woe, to Misery born. 
 
 My Mother dead, ray Father lost, 
 I wander'd with a vagrant Crew ; 
 
 A common Care, a common Cost, 
 Their Sorrows and their Sins I knew ; 
 
 With them, on Want and Error forc'd, 
 Like them, I base and guilty grew. 
 
 Few are ray Years, not so my Crimes ; 
 
 The Age, which these sad Looks declare. 
 Is Sorrow's Work, it is not Time's, 
 
 And I am old in Shame and Care. 
 
 Taught to believe the World a place. 
 Where every Stranger was a Foe, 
 
 Train'd in the Arts that mark our Race, 
 To what new People could I go ? 
 
 Could I a better Life embrace, 
 Or live as Virtue dictates ? No ! — 
 n2
 
 244 
 
 So through the Land, I wandering went, 
 And little found of Grief or Joy ; 
 
 But lost my Bosom's sweet Content, 
 When first I lov'd, the Gipsey-Boy. 
 
 A sturdy Youth he was and tall. 
 
 His Looks would all his Soul declare, 
 
 His piercing Eyes were deep and small, 
 And strongly curl'd his Raven-Hair. 
 
 Yes, Aaron had each manly Charm, 
 
 All in the May of youthful Pride, 
 He scarcely fear'd his Father's Arm, 
 
 And every other Arm defied. — 
 Oft when they grew in Anger warm, 
 
 (Whom will not Love and Power divide ?) 
 I rose, their wrathful Souls to calm. 
 
 Not yet in sinful Combat tried. 
 
 His Father was our Party's Chief, 
 And dark and dreadful was his Look, 
 
 His Presence fiU'd my Heart with Grief, 
 Although to me, he kindly spoke. 
 
 With Aaron I delighted went. 
 
 His Favour was my Bliss and Pride ;
 
 245 
 
 In growing Hope our Days we spent, 
 Love, growing Charms in either spied. 
 
 It saw them, all which Nature lent, 
 It lent them, all which she denied. 
 
 Could I the Father's Kindness prize, 
 Or grateful Looks on him bestow ; 
 
 Whom I beheld in wrath arise, 
 
 When Aaron sank beneath his Blow ? 
 
 He drove him down with wicked Hand, 
 It was a dreadful Sight to see ; 
 
 Then vex'd him, till he left the Land, 
 And told his cruel Love to me ; — 
 
 The Clan were all at his Command, 
 Whatever his Command might be. 
 
 The Night was dark, the Lanes were deep, 
 And one by one, they took their way ; 
 
 He bade me lay me down and sleep, 
 I only wept and wish'd for Day. 
 
 Accursed be the Love he bore, — 
 Accursed was the Force he us'd, — • 
 
 So let him of his God implore 
 For Mercy, and be so refus'd !
 
 246 
 
 You frown again, — to show my Wrong, 
 Can I in gentle Language speak ? 
 
 My Woes are deep, ray Words are strong, ■ 
 And hear me, or my Heart will break. 
 
 MAGISTRATE. 
 
 I hear tliy Words, I feel thy Pain ; 
 
 Forbear awhile to speak thy Woes; 
 Receive our Aid, and then again. 
 
 The Story of thy Life disclose. 
 
 For, though seduc'd and led astray, 
 
 Thou'st travell'd far and wander'd long ; 
 
 Thy God hath seen thee all the way. 
 And all the Turns that led thee wrong.
 
 THE 
 
 HALL OF JUSTICE. 
 
 $art tffe .^econii. 
 
 Quondam ridentes oculi, nunc fonte perenni 
 Deplorant pcenas nocte dieque suas. 
 
 Corn. Galli Eleg. 
 
 MAGISTRATE 
 
 OOME, now again thy Woes impart, 
 Tell all tliy Sorrows, all thy Sin ; 
 
 We cannot heal the throbbing Heart, 
 Till we discern the Wounds within. 
 
 Compunction weeps our Guilt away, 
 The Sinner's Safety is his Pain; 
 
 Such Pangs for our Offences pay, 
 And these severer Griefs are Gain.
 
 248 
 
 VAGRANT. 
 
 The Son came back — he found us wed, 
 Then dreadful was the Oath he swore ; — 
 
 His Way through Blachbvrn Forest led, — 
 His Father we beheld no more. 
 
 Of all our darini^ Clan, not one. 
 
 Would on the doubtful Subject dwell ; 
 
 For all esteem 'd the injur'd Son, 
 
 And fear'd the Tale, which he could tell. 
 
 But I had mightier Cause for Fear, 
 For slow and mournful round my Bed, 
 
 I saw a dreadful Form appear, — 
 It came when I and Aaron wed. 
 
 (Yes ! we were wed, I know my Crime,— 
 We slept beneath the Elmin Tree ; 
 
 But I was grieving all the time, 
 
 And Aaron frown'd my Tears to see. 
 
 For he not yet had felt the Pain, 
 That rankles in a wounded Breast; 
 
 He wak'd to Sin, then slept again, 
 
 Forsook his God, yet took his Rest. —
 
 249 
 
 But I was forc'd to feign Delight, 
 
 And Joy in Mirth and Music sought,— 
 
 And Mem'ry now recalls the Night, 
 
 With such Surprise and Horror fraught, 
 
 That Reason felt a moment's Flight, 
 And left a Mind, to Madness wrought.) 
 
 When waking, on ray heaving Breast, 
 
 I felt a Hand as cold as Death ; 
 A sudden Fear my Voice suppress'd, 
 
 A chilling Terror stopp'd my Breath — 
 
 I seem''d — no Words can utter how ! 
 
 For there my Father-Husband stood, — 
 And thus he said : — " AVill God allow, 
 
 " The great Avenger, just and good, 
 *' A Wife, to break her Marriage Vow ? 
 
 " A Son, to shed his Father's Blood ?" 
 
 I trembled at the dismal Sounds, 
 
 But vainly strove a Word to say ; 
 So, pointing to his bleeding Wounds, 
 
 * The threat' ning Spectre stalk'd away. 
 
 * The state of mind here described, will account for a vision 
 of this nature, without having recourse to any supernatural ap- 
 pearance.
 
 250 
 
 I broua^lit a lovely Daughter forth, 
 His Father's Child, in Aaron's Bed; 
 
 He took her from me in his wrath, 
 « Where is my Child?" — ' Thy Child is dead.' 
 
 'Twas false — we wander'd far and wide, 
 Through Town and Country, Field and Fen, 
 
 Till Aaron fighting, fell and died, 
 And I became a Wife again. 
 
 I then was young : — my Husband sold 
 My fancied Charms, for wicked Price ; 
 
 He gave me oft, for sinful Gold, 
 
 The Slave, but not the Friend of Vice : — 
 
 Behold me Heav'n ! my Pains behold. 
 And let them for my Sins suffice ! 
 
 The Wretch who lent me thus for Gain, 
 Despis'd me when my Yotith was fled ; 
 
 Then came Disease and brought me Pain : — 
 Come, Death, and bear me to the Dead ! 
 
 For though I grieve, my Grief is vain, 
 And fruitless all the Tears I shed. 
 
 True, I was not to Virtue train'd. 
 Yet well I knew my Deeds were ill ;
 
 251 
 
 By each Offence my Heart was pain'd, 
 
 I wept, but I offended still ; 
 My better Thoughts my Life disdain'd, 
 
 But yet the viler led my Will. 
 
 My Husband died, and now no more, 
 My Smile was sought or ask'd my Hand, 
 
 A widow'd Vagrant, vile and poor. 
 Beneath a Vagrant's vile command. 
 
 Ceaseless I rov'd the Country round, 
 To win my Bread by fraudful Arts, 
 
 And long a poor Subsistence found, 
 By spreading Nets for simple Hearts. 
 
 Though poor, and abject, and despis'd, 
 Their Fortunes to the Crowd I told ; 
 
 I gave the Young the Love they priz'd, 
 And promis'd Wealth to bless the Old : 
 
 Schemes for the Doubtful I devis'd. 
 And Charms for the Forsaten sold. 
 
 At length for Arts like these confin'd, 
 In Prison with a lawless Crew ; 
 
 I Tsoon perceiv'd a kindred Mind, 
 
 And there my long-lost Daughter knew.
 
 252 
 
 His Father's Chilfl, whom Aaron gave 
 
 To wander with a distant Clan, 
 The Miseries of the World to brave, 
 
 And be the Slave of Vice and Man. 
 
 She knew my Name — we met in Pain, 
 Our parting Pangs, can I express ? 
 
 She sail'd a Convict o'er the Main, 
 And left an Heir to her Distress. 
 
 This is that Heir to Shame and Pain, 
 
 For whom I only could descry 
 A World of Trouble and Disdain: 
 
 Yet, could I bear to see her die, 
 Or stretch her feeble Hands in vain, 
 
 And weeping, beg of me Supply ? 
 
 No! though the Fate thy Mother knew, 
 Was shameful ! shameful though thy Race 
 
 Have wandered all, a lawless Crew, 
 Outcasts, despis'd in every Place ; 
 
 Yet as the dark and muddy Tide, 
 When far from its polluted Source, 
 
 Becomes more pure, and purified, 
 
 Flows in a clear and happy Course : —
 
 253 
 
 In thee, dear Infant ! so may end 
 
 Our Shame, in thee our Sorrows cease! 
 
 And thy pure Course will then extend, 
 In Floods of Joy, o'er Vales of Peace. 
 
 Oh ! by the God who loves to spare, 
 
 Deny me not the Boon I crave ; 
 Let this lov'd Child your Mercy share, 
 
 And let me find a peaceful Grave ; 
 Make her yet spotless Soul your Care, 
 
 And let my Sins their Portion have, 
 Her for a better Fate prepare. 
 
 And punish whom 'twere Sin to save ! 
 
 MAGISTRATE. 
 
 Recall the Word, renounce the Thought, 
 Command thy Heart and bend tliy Knee, 
 
 There is to all a Pardon brought, 
 A Ransom rich, assur'd and free ; 
 
 *Tis full when found, 'tis found if sought, 
 Oh ! seek it, till 'tis seal'd to Thee. 
 
 VAGRANT. 
 
 But how my Pardon shall I know ?
 
 254 
 
 MAGISTKATU. 
 
 By feeling Dread that 'tis not sent, 
 
 By Tears for Sin that freely flow, 
 By Grief, that all thy Tears are spent. 
 
 By Thouglits on that great Debt we owe. 
 With all the Mercy God has lent, 
 
 By suffering what thou canst not show, 
 Yet showing how thine Heart is rent. 
 
 Till thou canst feel thy Bosom glow, 
 And say, " My Saviour, I repent !'*
 
 WOMAN! 
 
 Mr. Ledyard, as quoted by M. Parke, in his 
 Travels into Africh, 
 
 «* To a Woman I never addressed myself in the language of de- 
 " cency and friendship, without receiving a decent and 
 " friendly answer. It I was hungry or thirsty, wet or sick, 
 " they did not hesitate, like Men, to perform a generous ac- 
 *' tion : In so free and kind a manner did they contribute to 
 ** my relief, that if I was dry, I drank the sweetest draught ; 
 " and if hungry, I ate the coarsest morsel with a double 
 " relish." 
 
 Place the Wblte-Man on Africk's Coast, 
 Whose swarthy Sons ix\ Blood delight, 
 
 Who of their Scorn to Europe boast, 
 And paint their very DsBiuoas white :
 
 256 
 
 There while the sterner Sex disdains 
 
 To soothe the Woes, they cannot feel 5 
 AVoman will strive to heal his Pains, 
 
 And weep for those, she cannot heal : 
 Hers is warm Pity's sacred Glow ; 
 
 From all her Stores, she bears a Part, 
 And bids the Spring of Hope re-flow, 
 
 That languish'd in the fainting Heart. 
 
 " What though so pale his haggard Face, 
 
 *' So sunk and sad his Looks," — she cries; 
 *^ And far unlike our nobler Race, 
 
 " With crisped Locks and rolling Eyes ; 
 *' Yet Misery marks him of our Kind, 
 
 " We see him lost, alone, afraid ; 
 '* And Pangs of Body, Griefs in Mind, 
 " Pronounce him Man and ask our Aid. 
 
 ** Perhaps in some far distant Shore, 
 
 " There are who in these Forms delight ; 
 *' Whose milky Features please them more, 
 " Than ours of Jet thus burnish'd bright ; 
 " Of such may be his weeping Wife, 
 
 " Such Children for th-eir Sire may call, 
 " And if we spare his ebbing Life, 
 " Our Kindness may preserve them all."
 
 257 
 
 Thus her Compassion Woman shows, 
 Beneath the Line her Acts are these ; 
 Nor the wide Waste of Lapland-Snows, 
 Can her warm Flow of Pity freeze : — 
 
 " From some sad Land the Stranger comes, 
 
 " Where Joys, like ours, are never found ; 
 " Let's soothe liim in our happy Homes, 
 " Where Freedom sits, with Plenty crown'd. 
 
 " 'Tis good the fainting Soul to cheer, 
 " To see the famish'd Stranger fed ; 
 •* To milk for him the Mother-Deer, 
 " To smooth for him the furry Bed. 
 *' The Powers above, our Lapland bless, 
 " With Good no other People know ; 
 *' T' enlarge the Joys that we possess, 
 *' By feeling those that we bestow 1" 
 
 Thus in Extremes of Cold and Heat, 
 
 Where wandering Man may trace his Kind ; 
 
 Where-ever Grief and Want retreat. 
 In Woman they Compassion find ; 
 
 She makes the Female Breast her Seat, 
 And dictates Mercy to the Mind. 
 
 Man may the sterner Virtues know, 
 Determin'd Justice, Truth severe : 
 s
 
 258 
 
 But Female Hearts with Pity glow, 
 
 And Woman holds Affliction dear ; 
 For guiltless Woes her Sorrows flow, 
 
 And suffering Vice compels her Tear ; 
 'Tis hcr's to soothe the Ills below, 
 
 And bid Life's fairer Views appear ; 
 To Woman's gentle Kind we owe. 
 
 What comforts and delights us here ; 
 They its gay Hopes on Youth bestow, 
 
 And Care they soothe and Age they cheer. 
 
 Print! ,1 ftv bretttUann Co, 
 Mnysluill-Street. nnltleii-f/qutire.
 
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