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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:25:02 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:25:02 -0700 |
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| -rw-r--r-- | 5208-h/5208-h.htm | 2569 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/5208-0.txt b/5208-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2205934 --- /dev/null +++ b/5208-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2514 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 5208 *** +"THE PARISH REGISTER", by GEORGE CRABBE (1754-1832) {1} +IN THREE PARTS. + + + + +PART I. + + + +Tum porro puer (ut saevis projectus ab undis, +Navita) nudus humi jacet infans indigus omni +Vitali auxilio, - +Vagituque locum lugubri complet, ut aequum est, +Cui tantum in vita restat transire malorum. + LUCRETIUS, De Rerum Natura, lib.5 + +THE 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 Dwellings of one of these--A Public House-- +Garden and its Appendages--Gamesters; rustic Sharpers &c.-- +Conclusion of the Introductory Part. + +BAPTISMS. + +The Child of the Miller's Daughter, and Relation of her Misfortune-- +A frugal Couple; their Kind of Frugality--Plea of the Mother of a +natural Child; her Churching--Large Family of Gerard Ablett: his +apprehensions: 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 having many--Characters of the +Grocer Dawkins and his Friend; their different Kinds of +Disappointment--Three Infants named--An Orphan Girl and Village +School-mistress--Gardener's Child: Pedantry and Conceit of the +Father: his botanical Discourse: Method of fixing the Embryo-fruit +of Cucumbers--Absurd Effects of Rustic Vanity: observed in the +names of their Children--Relation of the Vestry Debate on a +Foundling: Sir Richard Monday--Children of various Inhabitants--The +poor Farmer--Children of a Profligate: his Character and Fate-- +Conclusion. + +The year revolves, and I again explore +The simple Annals of my Parish poor; +What Infant-members in my flock appear, +What Pairs I bless'd 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 aspired to praise; +Their tempers, manners, morals, customs, arts, +What parts they had, and how they 'mploy'd their parts; +By what elated, soothed, seduced, depress'd, +Full well I know-these Records give the rest. + Is there a place, save one the poet sees, +A land of love, of liberty, and ease; +Where labour wearies not, nor cares suppress +Th' eternal flow of rustic happiness; +Where no proud mansion frowns in awful 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 mixed, 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 shows them and the verse that sings. + Here the last Louis on his throne is seen, +And there he stands imprison'd, and his Queen; +To these the mother takes her child, and shows +What grateful duty to his God he owes; +Who gives to him a happy home, where he +Lives and enjoys his freedom with the free; +When kings and queens, dethroned, insulted, tried, +Are all these blessings of the poor denied. + There is King Charles, and all his Golden Rules, +Who proved Misfortune's was the best of schools: +And there his Son, who, tried by years of pain, +Proved 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 wanton 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's worthy votaries live, +In all the joys that ale and skittles give. + Now, lo! on 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 deed of gloom; +Distressing glory! grievous boon of fate! +The proudest conquest at the dearest rate. + On shelf of deal beside the cuckoo-clock, +Of cottage reading 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-sung 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 saved, +Has choicest prints by famous hands engraved; +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 agreed, 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. + Bunyan's famed Pilgrim rests that shelf upon; +A genius rare but rude was honest John; +Not one who, early by the Muse beguiled, +Drank from her well the waters undefiled; +Not one who slowly gained 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'd will from Nature's wanderings learn. + Of Hermit Quarll 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 and heap'd, these valued tomes beside, +Lay humbler works, the pedlar's pack supplied; +Yet these, long since, have all acquired a name: +The Wandering Jew has found his way to fame; +And fame, denied to many a labour'd song, +Crowns Thumb the Great, and Hickathrift the strong. + There too is he, by wizard-power upheld, +Jack, by whose arm the giant-brood were quell'd: +His shoes of swiftness on his feet he placed; +His coat of darkness on his loins he braced; +His sword of sharpness in his hand he took, +And off the heads of doughty giants stroke: +Their glaring eyes beheld no mortal near; +No sound of feet alarm'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, placed 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 leek with crown globose and reedy 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. + Nor thus concludes his labour; near the cot, +The reed-fence rises round some fav'rite spot; +Where rich carnations, pinks with purple eyes, +Proud hyacinths, the least some florist's prize, +Tulips tall-stemm'd and pounced auriculas rise. + 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 theirs 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; +Riots are nightly heard: --the curse, the cries +Of beaten wife, perverse in her replies; +While shrieking children hold each threat'ning hand, +And sometimes life, and sometimes food demand: +Boys, 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 Sibyl 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, depraved 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 walls, offence +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 disembogued and kennels flow. + There hungry dogs from hungry children steal; +There pigs and chickens quarrel for a meal; +Their dropsied infants wail without redress, +And all is want and woe and wretchedness; +Yet should these boys, with bodies bronzed and bare, +High-swoln and hard, outlive that lack of care - +Forced 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 they 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 paper'd lath, or curtain dropt between; +Daughters and sons to yon compartments creep, +And parents 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 the foulest ward. +See on the floor, where frousy patches rest! +What nauseous fragments on yon fractured 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 suppress'd +An infant's cry once waken'd in her breast; +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 every 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; +Pistols 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, +Frocks, wigs, and hats, for night or day disguise, +And bludgeons stout to gain or guard a prize. + To every house belongs a space of ground, +Of equal size, once fenced with paling round; +That paling now by slothful waste destroyed, +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 or play: +Within, a board, beneath a tiled retreat, +Allures the bubble and maintains the cheat; +Where heavy ale in spots like varnish shows, +Where chalky tallies yet remain in rows; +Black pipes and broken jugs the seats defile, +The walls and windows, rhymes and reck'nings vile; +Prints of the meanest kind disgrace the door, +And cards, in curses 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, deprived of both his eyes, +The vanquished bird must combat till he dies; +Must faintly peck at his victorious foe, +And reel and stagger at each feeble blow: +When fallen, 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 perished for his sake. + Such are our Peasants, those to whom we yield +Praise with relief, the fathers of the field; +And these who take from our reluctant hands +What Burn advises or the Bench commands. + Our Farmers round, well pleased with constant gain, +Like other farmers, flourish and complain. - +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 I 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 Miller's daughter had the fairest face: +Proud was the Miller; money was his pride; +He rode to market, as our farmers ride, +And 'twas his boast, inspired by spirits, there, +His favourite Lucy 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's maiden is a prize for me; +Her charms I love, his riches I desire, +And all his threats but fan the kindling fire; +My ebbing purse no more the foe shall fill, +But Love's kind act and Lucy at the mill." + Thus thought the youth, and soon the chase began, +Stretch'd all his sail, nor thought of pause or plan: +His trusty staff in his bold hand he took, +Like him 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 jean his trousers, tight and trim, +Brush'd the large buckle at the silver rim. + He soon arrived, he traced the village-green, +There saw the maid, and was with pleasure seen; +Then talk'd of love, till Lucy's yielding heart +Confess'd 'twas painful, though 'twas right to part. + "For ah! my father has a haughty soul; +Whom best he loves, he loves but to control; +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 forced but never shed the tear; +Save, when my mother died, some drops expressed +A kind of sorrow for a wife at rest: - +To me a master's stern regard is shown, +I'm like his steed, prized highly as his own; +Stroked but corrected, threatened when supplied, +His slave and boast, his victim and his pride." + "Cheer up, my lass! I'll to thy father go, +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; +The rush of winds, the flapping sails above, +And rattling 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 Miller, moved at speech so rash, +"Art thou like me? then where thy notes and cash? +Away to Wapping, and a wife command, +With all thy wealth, a guinea in thine hand; +There with thy messmates quaff the muddy cheer, +And leave my Lucy 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 the 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 prized, +Transports that pain'd, and joys that agonised; +Till the fond damsel, pleased with lad so trim, +Awed by her parent, and enticed by him, +Her lovely form from savage power to save, +Gave--not her hand--but ALL she could she gave. + Then came the day of shame, the grievous night, +The varying look, the wandering appetite; +The joy assumed, while sorrow dimm'd the eyes, +The forced sad smiles that follow'd sudden sighs; +And every art, long used, but used in vain, +To hide thy progress, Nature, and thy pain. + Too eager caution shows 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, whispering gossips were in parties seen, +Then louder Scandal walk'd the village--green; +Next babbling Folly told the growing ill, +And busy Malice dropp'd 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 his search; but, till the traitor come, +The higgler's cottage be thy future home; +There with his ancient shrew and care abide, +And hide thy head,--thy shame thou canst not hide." + Day after day was pass'd in pains and grief; +Week follow'd week,--and still was no relief: +Her boy was born--no lads nor lasses came +To grace the rite or give the child a name; +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'd panes the setting sun; +Where noisy sparrows, perch'd on penthouse near, +Chirp tuneless joy, and mock the frequent tear; +Bats on their webby wings in darkness move, +And feebly shriek their melancholy love. + No Sailor came; the months in terror fled! +Then news arrived--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 rippling 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; +By turns to that, by turns to this a prey, +She knows what reason yields, and dreads what madness may. + Next, with their boy, a decent couple came, +And call'd him Robert, 'twas his father's name; +Three girls preceded, all by time endear'd, +And future births were neither hoped nor fear'd: +Blest in each other, but to no excess, +Health, quiet, comfort, form'd their happiness; +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, with these content, +They were, 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 Susan 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, she would take no rest, +Till care repaid that portion to the chest: +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 work 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 served 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 wise 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. - + "Again, thou harlot! could not all thy pain, +All my reproof, thy wanton thoughts restrain?" + "Alas! your reverence, wanton thoughts, I grant, +Were once my motive, now the 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'n, their virtue might revive." + For rite of churching soon she made her way, +In dread of scandal, should she miss the day: - +Two matrons 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 dead to shame! + Twin-infants then appear; a girl, a boy, +Th' overflowing cup of Gerard Ablett's joy: +One had I named in every year that passed +Since Gerard wed! and twins behold at last! +Well pleased, the bridegroom smiled to hear--"A vine +Fruitful and spreading round the walls be thine, +And branch-like be thine offspring!"--Gerard then +Look'd joyful love, and softly said "Amen." +Now of that vine he'd have no more increase, +Those playful branches now disturb his peace: +Them he beholds around his tables spread, +But finds, the more the branch, the less the bread; +And while they run his humble walls about, +They keep the sunshine of good humour out. + Cease, man, to grieve! thy master's lot survey, +Whom wife and children, thou and thine obey; +A farmer proud, beyond a farmer's pride, +Of all around the envy or the guide; +Who trots to market on a steed so fine, +That when I meet him, I'm ashamed of mine; +Whose board is high upheaved with generous fare, +Which five stout sons and three tall daughters share. +Cease, man, to grieve, and listen to his care. + A few years fled, and all thy boys shall be +Lords of a cot, and labourers like thee: +Thy girls unportion'd neighb'ring 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 shall ask a large supply, +For farmers' sons each gentle miss shall sigh; +Thy 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 vex'd 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 thou shalt lose the cares that 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. + Dawkins, 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: +When thus enriched, he chose at home to stop, +And fleece his neighbours in a new-built shop; +Then woo'd a spinster blithe, and hoped, 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 noticed, and her eye withdrew: +Doubtful he paused--"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 thoughtful years they pass'd, +And hoping, dreading, they were bound at last. +And what their fate? Observe them as they go, +Comparing fear with fear and woe with woe. +"Humphrey!" said Dawkins, "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 sufferings of the day: +Alike our want, yet both the want reprove; +Where are, I cry, these pledges of our love? +When she, like Jacob's wife, makes fierce reply, +Yet fond--Oh! 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 Ditchem, "wouldst thou gain +A father's pleasure by a 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've wed; not one has passed 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 ancient 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 growl'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 yours: --I said, and sought the door. +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 undaunted for a birth again." + Heirs thus denied afflict the pining heart, +And thus afforded, jealous pangs impart; +Let, therefore, none avoid, and none demand +These arrows number'd for the giant's hand. + 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 them 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 respect and joy, +I trace the matron at her loved employ; +What time the striplings, wearied e'en 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, +When on her double duty she proceeds, +Of time as frugal--knitting as she reads: +Her idle neighbours, who approach to tell +Some trifling tale, her serious 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 Lonicera wilt thou name thy child?" +I ask the Gardener's wife, in accents mild: +"We have a right," replied the sturdy dame; - +And Lonicera was the infant's name. +If next a son shall yield our Gardener joy, +Then Hyacinthus 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 Rhus 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), +There Arums, there Leontodons we view, +And Artemisia grows where wormwood grew. + But though no weed exists his garden round, +From Rumex strong our Gardener frees his ground, +Takes soft Senecio from the yielding land, +And grasps the arm'd Urtica in his hand. + Not Darwin's self had more delight to sing +Of floral courtship, in th' awaken'd 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 spouse, +And give and take the vegetable vows; +How those esteem'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 light 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 tip their dust convey; +Then by thyself, from prying glance secure, +Twirl the full tip and make your purpose sure; +A long-abiding race the deed shall pay, +Nor one unblest abortion pine away." + T'admire their Mend's discourse our swains agree, +And call it science and philosophy. + "'Tis good, 'tis pleasant, through th' advancing year, +To see unnumbered growing forms appear; +What leafy-life from Earth's broad bosom rise! +What insect myriads seek the summer skies! +What scaly tribes in every streamlet move; +What plumy people sing in every grove! +All with the year awaked to life, delight, and love. +Then names are good; for how, without their aid, +Is knowledge, gain'd by man, to man convey'd? +But from that source shall all our pleasures flow? +Shall all our knowledge be those names to know? +Then he, with memory blest, shall bear away +The palm from Grew, and Middleton, and Ray: +No! let us rather seek, in grove and field, +What food for wonder, what for use they yield; +Some just remark from Nature's people bring, +And some new source of homage for her King. + Pride lives with all; strange names our rustics give +To helpless infants, that their own may live; +Pleased to be known, they'll some attention claim, +And find some by-way to the house of fame. + The straightest furrow lifts the ploughman's art, +The hat he gained has warmth for head and heart; +The bowl that beats the greater number down +Of tottering nine-pins, gives to fame the clown; +Or, foil'd in these, he opes his 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 him known, and give his folly fame. + To name an infant meet our village sires, +Assembled all as such event requires; +Frequent and full, the rural sages sate, +And speakers many urged the long debate, - +Some harden'd knaves, who roved the country round, +Had left a babe within the parish bound. - +First, of the fact they question'd--"Was it true?" +The child was brought--"What then remained to do?" +"Was't dead or living?" This was fairly proved, - +'Twas pinched, it roar'd, and every doubt removed. +Then by what name th' unwelcome guest to call +Was long a question, and it posed them all; +For he who lent it to a babe unknown, +Censorious men might take it for his own: +They look'd about, they gravely spoke to all, +And not one Richard answer'd to the call. +Next they inquired the day, when, passing by, +Th' unlucky peasant heard the stranger's cry: +This known,--how food and raiment they might give +Was next debated--for the rogue would live; +At last, with all their words and work content, +Back to their homes the prudent vestry went, +And Richard Monday to the workhouse sent. + There was he pinched and pitied, thump'd and fed, +And duly took his beatings and his bread; +Patient in all control, 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 used on all occasions Richard's hands: +His very soul was not his own; he stole +As others order'd, and without a dole; +In all disputes, on either part he lied, +And freely pledged his oath on either side; +In all rebellions Richard joined the rest, +In all detections Richard first confess'd; +Yet, though disgraced, he watched his time so well, +He rose in favour when in fame he fell; +Base was his usage, vile his whole employ, +And all despised and fed the pliant boy. +At length "'Tis time he should abroad be sent," +Was whispered near him,--and abroad he went; +One morn they call'd him, Richard answer'd not; +They deem'd him hanging, and in time forgot, - +Yet miss'd him long, as each throughout the clan +Found he "had better spared 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 seem'd to all assent, +And that complacent speech which nothing meant: +He'd but one care, and that he strove to hide - +How best for Richard Monday to provide. +Steel, through opposing plates, the magnet draws, +And steely 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. + Long lost to us, at last our man we trace, - +"Sir Richard Monday died at Monday Place:" +His lady's worth, his daughter's, we peruse, +And find his grandsons all as rich as Jews: +He gave reforming charities a sum, +And bought the blessings of the blind and dumb; +Bequeathed to missions money from the stocks, +And Bibles issued 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 produced) 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 given a son, +Finch on the Moor, and French, and Middleton. +Twice in this year a female Giles I see, +A Spalding once, and once a Barnaby: - +A 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. +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, looks moveless on the ground; +His cares, his 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 Deadman's Dyke-way stood; +And his a nightly haunt, in Lonely-wood: +Each village inn has heard the ruffian boast, +That he believed "in neither God nor ghost; +That when the sod upon the sinner press'd, +He, like the saint, had everlasting rest; +That never priest believed 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." + These maxims,--part th' Attorney's Clerk profess'd, +His own transcendent genius found the rest. +Our pious matrons heard, and, much amazed, +Gazed on the man, and trembled as they gazed; +And now his face explored, and now his feet, +Man's dreaded foe in this bad man to meet: +But him our drunkards as their champion raised, +Their bishop call'd, and as their hero praised: +Though most, when sober, and the rest, when sick, +Had little question whence his bishopric. + But he, triumphant spirit! all things dared; +He poach'd the wood, and on the warren snared; +'Twas his, at cards, each novice to trepan, +And call the want of rogues "the rights of man;" +Wild as the winds he let his offspring 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 urged, he sought the wood; - +The ditch was deep,--the rain had caused a flood, - +The foot-bridge fail'd,--he plunged beneath the deep, +And slept, if truth were his, th'eternal sleep. + These have we named; on life's rough sea they sail, +With many a prosperous, many an adverse gale! +Where passion soon, like powerful winds, will rage, +And prudence, wearied, with their strength engage: +Then each, in aid, shall some companion ask, +For help or comfort in the tedious task; +And what that help--what joys from union flow, +What good or ill, we next prepare to show; +And row, meantime, our weary bark to shore, +As Spenser his--but not with Spenser's oar. {2} + + + +PART II. + + + +Nubere si qua voles, quamvis properabitis ambo, +Differ; habent parvae commoda magna morae. + OVID, Fasti, lib.iii. + +MARRIAGES. + +Previous Consideration necessary: yet not too long Delay--Imprudent +Marriage of old Kirk and his Servant--Comparison between an ancient +and youthful Partner to a young Man--Prudence of Donald the +Gardener--Parish Wedding: the compelled Bridegroom: Day of +Marriage, how spent--Relation of the Accomplishments of Phoebe +Dawson, a rustic Beauty: her Lover: his Courtship: their +Marriage--Misery of Precipitation--The wealthy Couple: Reluctance +in the Husband; why?--Unusually fair Signatures in the Register: +the common Kind--Seduction of Lucy Collins by Footman Daniel: her +rustic Lover: her Return to him--An ancient Couple: Comparisons on +the Occasion--More pleasant View of Village Matrimony: Farmers +celebrating the Day of Marriage: their Wives--Reuben and Rachael, a +happy Pair: an example of prudent Delay--Reflections on their State +who were not so prudent, and its Improvement towards the Termination +of Life: an old Man so circumstanced--Attempt to seduce a Village +Beauty: Persuasion and Reply: the Event. + +DISPOSED to wed, e'en while you hasten, stay; +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 e'en the happiest find: +Delay shall knowledge yield on either part, +And show the value of the vanquish'd heart; +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 tried; +First in the year he led a blooming bride, +And stood a wither'd elder at her side. +Oh! Nathan! Nathan! at thy years trepann'd, +To take a wanton harlot by the hand! +Thou, who wert used 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 forebore 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, rememb'ring insults past, +Cry, "What, the wise one in the trap at last!" + Fie! Nathan! fie! to let an artful jade +The close recesses of thine heart invade; +What grievous pangs! what suffering she'll impart! +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 the vain ramblings of a vulgar taste; +And will be happy to exert her power, +In every eye, in thine, at every hour. + Then wilt thou bluster--"No! I will not rest, +And see consumed each shilling of my chest:" +Thou wilt be valiant--"When thy cousins call, +I will abuse and shut my door on all:" +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! may I this believe? +Are these true tender tears? and does my Kitty grieve? +Ah! crafty vixen, thine old man has fears; +But weep no more! I'm melted by thy tears; +Spare but my money; thou shalt rule ME still, +And see thy cousins: --there! I burn the will." + Thus, with example sad, our year began, +A wanton vixen and a weary man; +But had this tale 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 ancient bride and bridegroom young; - +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 experienced should that pilot be, +Who sails with them on life's tempestuous sea. +But like a trade-wind is the ancient dame, +Mild to your wish and every day the same; +Steady as time, no sudden squalls you fear, +But set full 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 Tay; +Him to a neighbouring garden fortune sent, +Whom we beheld, aspiringly content: +Patient and mild he sought the dame to please, +Who ruled the kitchen and who bore the keys. +Fair Lucy first, the laundry's grace and pride, +With smiles and gracious looks, her fortune tried; +But all in vain she praised his "pawky eyne," +Where never fondness was for Lucy seen: +Him the mild Susan, boast of dairies, loved, +And found him civil, cautious, and unmoved: +From many a fragrant simple, Catherine's skill +Drew oil and essence from the boiling still; +But not her warmth, nor all her winning ways, +From his cool phlegm could Donald's spirit raise: +Of beauty heedless, with the merry mute, +To Mistress Dobson he preferr'd his suit; +There proved 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 every eye, what all perceived, to hide, +While the boy-bridegroom, shuffling in his pace, +Now hid awhile and then exposed his face; +As shame alternately with anger strove, +The brain confused 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 minced the while, +Look'd on the lad, and faintly tried to smile; +With soften'd 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, +When Phoebe Dawson gaily cross'd the Green, +In haste to see, and happy to be seen: +Her air, her manners, all who saw admired; +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 express'd, +As with untutor'd elegance she dress'd; +The lads around admired so fair a sight, +And Phoebe felt, and felt she gave, delight. +Admirers soon of every age she gain'd, +Her beauty won them and her worth retain'd; +Envy itself could no contempt display, +They wish'd her well, whom yet they wish'd away. +Correct in thought, she judged a servant's place +Preserved 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 pleased by manners most unlike her own; +Loud though in love, and confident though young; +Fierce in his air, and voluble of tongue; +By trade a tailor, though, in scorn of trade, +He served the 'Squire, and brush'd the coat he made. +Yet now, would Phoebe her consent afford, +Her slave alone, again 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 roved 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 pronounced adieu! and yet would stay, +Till chidden--soothed--entreated--forced away; +He would of coldness, though indulged, complain, +And oft retire, and oft return again; +When, if his teasing vex'd her gentle mind, +The grief assumed compell'd her to be kind! +For he would proof of plighted kindness crave, +That she resented first, and then forgave; +And to his grief and penance yielded more +Than his presumption had required 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 arms 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 unnoticed 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; +For when so full the cup of sorrow grows, +Add but a drop, it instantly o'erflows. +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: +In vain they come, she feels the inflating grief, +That shuts the swelling bosom from relief; +That speaks in feeble cries a soul distress'd, +Or the sad laugh that cannot be repress'd. +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 Phoebe Dawson, pride of Lammas Fair; +Who took her lover for his sparkling eyes, +Expressions warm, and love-inspiring lies: +Compassion first assail'd her gentle heart, +For all his suffering, 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 declared, +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 pined, +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-dress'd 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 fix'd, +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; +Nor that gay bride, adorn'd with every grace, +Nor love nor joy triumphant in her face, +Could from the youth's sad signs of sorrow chase: +Why didst thou grieve? wealth, pleasure, freedom thine; +Vex'd it thy soul, that freedom to resign? +Spake Scandal truth? "Thou 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 Phillis is a skilful dame, +Who play'd uninjured with the dangerous flame; +That, while, like Lovelace, thou thy coat display'd, +And hid the snare for her affection laid, +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. +Then in few weeks that cloudy brow had been +Without a wonder or a whisper seen; +And none had been so weak as to inquire, +"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; +While free and fine the bride's appear below, +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 modelled by the drill, +The free-born legs stand striding as they will. + Much have I tried to guide the fist along, +But still the blunderers placed 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; - +Our peasants, strong and sturdy in the field, +Cannot these arms of idle students wield: +Like them, in feudal days, their valiant lords +Resign'd the pen and grasp'd their conqu'ring swords; +They to robed clerks and poor dependent men +Left the light duties of the peaceful pen; +Nor to their ladies wrote, but sought to prove, +By deeds of death, their hearts were fill'd with love. + But yet, small arts have charms for female eyes; +Our rustic nymphs the beau and scholar prize; +Unletter'd swains and ploughmen coarse they slight, +For those who dress, and amorous scrolls indite. + For Lucy Collins happier days had been, +Had Footman Daniel scorn'd his native green, +Or when he came an idle coxcomb down, +Had he his love reserved for lass in town; +To Stephen Hill she then had pledged 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 Stephen just and true; +But coarse his doublet was and patch'd in view, +And felt his stockings were, and blacker than his shoe; +While Daniel's 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 coat, unsoil'd by spot or stain; +His hose were silk, his shoes of Spanish grain; +A silver knot his breadth of shoulder bore; +A diamond buckle blazed his breast before - +Diamond he swore it was! and show'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 glory 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 Lucy's promise fail'd to shield her heart. + Stephen, 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, +Increased 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 praised the frugal swain; +Who thriving well, through many a fruitful year, +Now clothed himself anew, and acted overseer. + Just then poor Lucy, from her friend in town +Fled in pure fear, and came a beggar down; +Trembling, at Stephen's door she knocked for bread, - +Was chidden first, next pitied, and then fed; +Then sat at Stephen's board, then shared in Stephen's bed: +All hope of marriage lost in her disgrace, +He mourns a flame revived, and she a love of lace. + Now to be wed a well-match'd couple came; +Twice had old Lodge 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 we by laws restrain; +Why not prevent them when they're such again? +Why not forbid the doting souls to prove +Th' indecent fondling of preposterous love? +In spite of prudence, uncontroll'd by shame, +The amorous senior woos the toothless dame, +Relating idly, at the closing 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 withered arms 'gainst wind and weather, +And shake their leafless heads and drop together: +So two cold limbs, touch'd by Galvani's wire, +Move with new life, and feel awaken'd fire; +Quivering awhile, their flaccid forms remain, +Then turn to cold torpidity again. + "But ever frowns your Hymen? man and maid, +Are all repenting, suffering, or betray'd?" +Forbid it, Love! we 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 rest her pride. +No more she moves in measured steps; no more +Runs, with bewilder'd ear, her music o'er; +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; +Till, all her varnish lost in few short years, +In all her worth the farmer's wife appears. + Yet not the ancient kind; nor she who gave +Her soul to 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, +Adorned with carpet, formed 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 space apart +Their husbands, drinking, warm the opening heart, +Our neighbouring dames, on festal days, unite, +With tongues more fluent and with hearts as light; +Theirs 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 listening, and when speaking hear: +The ready converse knows no dull delays, +"But double are the pains, and double be the praise." + Yet not to those alone who bear command +Heaven 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 Rachel, though 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 cull'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, with curtains neat and new. + Thus both, as prudence counsell'd, wisely stay'd, +And cheerful then the calls of Love obeyed: +What if, when Rachel gave her hand, 'twas one +Embrown'd by Winter's ice and Summer's sun ? +What if, in Reuben's 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; +Like those tall elms in Farmer Frankford's ground, +They'll grow no more,--but all their growth is sound; +By time confirm'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 their cares increase, +Their love grows colder, and their pleasures cease; +In health just fed, in sickness just relieved; +By hardships harass'd and by children grieved; +In petty quarrels and in peevish strife +The once fond couple waste the spring of life; +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 +Receding slowly till they find repose. +Complaints and murmurs then are laid aside, +(By reason these subdued, and those by pride;) +And, taught by care, the patient 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 labours, duties, sufferings, prayers, +Compose the soul, and fit it for its cares; +Their 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 go, +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 flail, +Toss'd the broad coit, or took the inspiring ale,) +"For me," (he meditates,) "shall soon be done +This friendly duty, when my race be run; +'Twas first in trouble as in error pass'd, +Dark clouds and stormy cares whole years o'ercast, +But calm my 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 assumed to banish fear: - +"Hope of my life, dear 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, my 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 agonise with pain? +Art thou, sweet maid, a ploughman's wants to share, +To dread his insult, to support his care; +To hear his follies, his contempt to prove, +And (oh! 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, through 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; +All that excites enjoyment, or procures +Wealth, health, respect, delight, and love, are yours: +Sparkling, in cups of gold, your wines shall flow, +Grace that fair hand, in that dear bosom glow; +Fruits of each clime, and flowers, through 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 love shall meet your eye, +And tallest mirrors, reaching to the floor, +Shall show you all the object I adore; +Who, by the hands of wealth and fashion dress'd, +By slaves attended and by friends caress'd, +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 smother'd envy rises in the breast, - +'Oh! that we lived 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 enjoy." + To this the Damsel, meekly firm, replied: +"My mother loved, was married, toil'd, and died; +With joys she'd griefs, had troubles in her course, +But not one grief was pointed by remorse: +My mind is fix'd, to Heaven I resign, +And be her love, her life, her comforts mine." + Tyrants have wept; and those with hearts of steel, +Unused the anguish of the heart to heal, +Have yet the transient power of virtue known, +And felt th' imparted joy promote their own. + Our Knight relenting, now befriends a youth, +Who to the yielding maid had vow'd his truth; +And finds in that fair deed a sacred joy, +That will not perish, and that cannot cloy; - +A living joy, that shall its spirits keep, +When every beauty fades, and all the passions sleep. + + + +PART III. + + + +Qui vultus Acherontis atri, +Qui Stygia tristem, non tristis, videt, +. . . . . . . . . . . . +Par ille Regi, par Superis erit. + SENECA, Agamemnon. + +BURIALS. + +True Christian Resignation not frequently to be seen--The Register a +melancholy Record--A dying Man, who at length sends for a Priest: +for what Purpose? answered--Old Collet of the Inn, an Instance of Dr +Young's slow-sudden Death: his Character and Conduct--The Manners +and Management of the Widow Goe: her successful Attention to +Business: her Decease unexpected--the Infant Boy of Gerard Ablett +dies: Reflections on his Death, and the Survivor his Sister-Twin-- +The Funeral of the deceased Lady of the Manor described: her +neglected Mansion: Undertaker and Train: the Character which her +Monument will hereafter display--Burial of an Ancient Maiden: some +former drawback on her Virgin Fame: Description of her 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 Derangement 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--Wife of Farmer Frankford dies in Prime of Life: +Affliction in Consequence +of such Death: melancholy View of Her House &c. on her Family's +Return from her Funeral: Address to Sorrow--Leah Cousins, a +Midwife: her Character, and successful Practice: at length opposed +by Dr. Glibb: Opposition in the Parish: Argument of 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 +Consequence--The Register terminates--A Bell heard: Inquiry for +whom?--The Sexton--Character of old Dibble, and the five Rectors +whom he served--Reflections--Conclusion. + + +THERE was, 'tis said, and I believe, a time +When humble Christians died with views sublime; +When all were ready for their faith to bleed, +But few to write or wrangle for their creed; +When lively Faith upheld the sinking heart, +And friends, assured to meet, prepared to part; +When Love felt hope, when Sorrow grew serene, +And all was comfort in the death-bed scene. + 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 them in the jaws 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 proclaimed that sunshine of the breast, +That more than hope, that Heaven itself express'd. + What I behold are feverish fits of strife, +'Twixt fears of dying and desire of life: +Those earthly hopes, that to the last endure; +Those fears, that hopes superior fail to cure; +At best a sad submission to the doom, +Which, turning from the danger, lets it come. + Sick lies the man, bewilder'd, lost, afraid, +His spirits vanquish'd, and his strength decay'd; +No hope the friend, the nurse, the doctor lend - +"Call then 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 seems the sinner's right!) +"I know mankind are frail, that God 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 spared, it is my full intent +On all the past to ponder and repent: +Wrongs against me I pardon great and small, +And if I die, I die in peace with all." + His merits thus and not his sins confess'd, +He speaks his hopes, and leaves to Heaven the rest. +Alas! are these the prospects, dull and cold, +That dying Christians to their priests unfold? +Or mends the prospect when th' enthusiast cries, +"I die assured!" and in a rapture dies? + Ah, where that humble, self-abasing mind, +With that confiding spirit, shall we find; +The mind that, feeling what repentance brings, +Dejection's terrors and Contrition's stings, +Feels then the hope that mounts all care above, +And the pure joy that flows from pardoning love? +Such have I seen in Death, and much 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 Andrew Collett we the year begin, +The blind, fat landlord of the Old Crown Inn, - +Big as his butt, and, for the selfsame 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 bachelors were bold: +His heroes all were famous in their days, +Cheats were his boast, and drunkards had his praise; +"One, in three draughts, three mugs of ale took down, +As mugs were then--the champion of the Crown; +For thrice three days another lived on ale, +And knew no change but that of mild and stale; +Two thirsty soakers watch'd a vessel's side, +When he the tap, with dext'rous hand, applied; +Nor from their seats departed, till they found +That butt was out and heard the mournful sound." + He praised a poacher, precious child of fun! +Who shot the keeper with his own spring gun; +Nor less the smuggler who th' exciseman tied, +And left him hanging at the birch-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 emptied 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, when angry wives, provoked to rail, +Or drive a third-day drunkard from his ale, +What were his triumphs, and how great the skill +That won the vex'd virago to his will; +Who raving came;--then talked in milder strain, - +Then wept, then drank, and pledged her spouse again. + Such were his themes : how knaves o'er laws prevail, +Or, when made captives, how they fly from jail; +The young how brave, how 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 died, +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, +Famed 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 ruled, with matchless skill, +With 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; - +"Come," if she said, they came; if "Go," were gone; +And if "Do this,"--that instant it was done: +Her maidens told she was all eye and ear, +In darkness saw and could at distance hear; +No parish-business 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 discharged 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 bestow'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 closed, as business waked the day; +When to her toilet's brief concern she ran, +And conversation with her friends began, +Who all were welcome, what they saw, to share; +And joyous neighbours praised her Christmas fare, +That none around might, in their scorn, complain +Of Gossip Goe as greedy in her gain. + Thus long she reign'd, admired, if not approved; +Praised, if not honour'd; fear'd, if not beloved; - +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 surveyed, +And April promised what September paid; +When stray'd her lambs where gorse and greenwood grow; +When rose her grass in richer vales below; +When pleased she look'd on all the smiling land, +And view'd the hinds, who wrought at her command; +(Poultry in groups still follow'd where she went;) +Then dread o'ercame her,--that her days were spent. + "Bless me! I die, and not a warning giv'n, - +With MUCH 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, dropp'd upon her knees, +Heaven in her eye and in her hand her keys; +And still the more she found her life decay, +With greater force she grasp'd those signs of sway: +Then fell and died!--In haste her sons drew near, +And dropp'd, in haste, the tributary tear; +Then from th' adhering clasp the keys unbound, +And consolation for their sorrows found. + Death has his infant-train; his bony arm +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 seized 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 grevious these appear, +If all it pays for Heaven's eternal year; +If these 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: +Through all the common ills of life may run, +By hope perverted and by love undone; +A wife's distress, a mother's pangs, may dread, +And widow-tears, in bitter anguish, shed; +May at old age arrive through numerous harms, +With children's children in those feeble arms: +Nor till by years of want and grief oppress'd +Shall the sad spirit flee and be at rest! + Yet happier therefore shall we deem the boy, +Secured 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. + Say, will you call the breathless infant blest, +Because no cares the silent grave molest? +So would you deem the nursling from the wing +Untimely thrust and never train'd to sing; +But far more blest the bird whose grateful voice +Sings its own joy and makes the woods rejoice, +Though, while untaught, ere yet he charm'd the ear, +Hard were his trials and his pains severe! + Next died the LADY who yon Hall possess'd, +And here they brought her noble bones to rest. +In Town she dwelt;--forsaken stood the Hall: +Worms ate the floors, the tap'stry fled the wall: +No fire the kitchen's cheerless grate display'd; +No cheerful light the long-closed 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 state, +The bat 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 cursed 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? + Lo! now, what dismal Sons of Darkness come, +To bear this Daughter of Indulgence home; +Tragedians 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 +The tear for kindness past affection owes; +For worth deceased the sigh from reason flows +E'en well feign'd passion for our sorrows call, +And real tears for mimic miseries fall: +But this poor farce has neither 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 awful, dismal but yet mean, +With anxious bustle moves the cumbrous scene; +Presents no objects tender or profound, +But spreads its cold unmeaning gloom around. + When woes are feign'd, how ill such forms appear, +And oh! how needless, when the woe's sincere. + Slow to the vault they come, with heavy tread, +Bending beneath the Lady and her lead; +A case of elm surrounds that ponderous chest, +Close on that case the crimson velvet's press'd; +Ungenerous 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 loathes and worms themselves disdain. + But see! the master-mourner makes his way, +To end his office for the coffin'd clay; +Pleased that our rustic men and maids behold +His plate like silver, and his studs like gold, +As they approach to spell the age, the name, +And all the titles of the 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 lived--the blessing of the land; +How much we all deplored the noble dead, +What groans we utter'd and what tears we shed; +Tears, true as those which in the sleepy eyes +Of weeping cherubs on the stone shall rise; +Tears, true as those which, ere she found her grave, +The noble Lady to our sorrows gave." + Down by the church-way walk, and where the 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 clipped in form and tantalised with skill; +Where cockles blanch'd and pebbles neatly spread, +Form'd shining borders for the larkspurs' bed; +There lived a Lady, wise, austere, and nice, +Who show'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 lived in maiden-state immured, +From looks of love and treacherous man secured; +Though evil fame--(but that was long before) +Had blown her dubious blast at Catherine's door: +A Captain thither, rich from India came, +And though a cousin call'd, it touch'd her fame: +Her annual stipend rose from his behest, +And all the long-prized treasures she possess'd:- +If aught like joy awhile appear'd to stay +In that stern face, and chase those frowns away, +'Twas when her treasures she disposed for view +And heard the praises to their splendour due; +Silks beyond price, so rich, they'd stand alone, +And diamonds blazing on the buckled zone; +Rows of rare pearls by curious workmen set, +And bracelets fair in box of glossy 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 pictured 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 clipp'd French puppy, first of favourites, graced: +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 tinged his Lady's cheek:) +Unhappy bird! who had no power to prove, +Save by such speech, his gratitude and love. +A gray old cat his whiskers lick'd beside; +A type of sadness in the house of pride. +The polish'd surface of an India chest, +A glassy globe, in frame of ivory, press'd; +Where swam two finny creatures; one of gold, +Of silver one; both beauteous to behold:- +All these were form'd the guiding taste to suit; +The beast well-manner'd and the fishes mute. +A widow'd Aunt was there, compell'd by need +The nymph to flatter and her tribe to feed; +Who veiling well her scorn, endured 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, +The oft'ner seen, the more in value rise, +And thus are wisely hoarded to bestow +The kind of pleasure that with years will grow. + But what avail'd their worth--if worth 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, +That told, "Alas! how hard from these to part, +And for new hopes and habits form the heart! +What shall I do (she cried,) my peace of mind +To gain in dying, and to die resign'd?" +"Hear," we return'd;--"these baubles cast aside, +Nor give thy God a rival in thy 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 widows' prayers, thy vanities forsake; +And let the hungry of thy pride partake: +Then shall thy inward eye with joy survey +The angel Mercy tempering Death'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 lived, and still she lies alone; +Yon earthy heap awaits the flattering stone +On which invention shall be long employ'd, +To show the various worth of Catherine Lloyd. + Next to these ladies, but in nought allied, +A noble Peasant, Isaac Ashford, died. +Noble he was, contemning all things mean, +His truth unquestion'd and his soul serene: +Of no man's presence Isaac felt afraid; +At no man's question Isaac looked dismay'd: +Shame knew him not, he dreaded no disgrace; +Truth, simple truth, was written in his face: +Yet while the serious thought his soul approved, +Cheerful he seem'd, and gentleness he loved; +To bliss domestic he his heart resign'd, +And with the firmest had the fondest mind; +Were others joyful, he look'd smiling on, +And gave allowance where he needed none; +Good he refused with future ill to buy, +Nor knew a joy that caused 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 he from stoic pride removed; +He felt humanely, and he warmly loved: +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; +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 virtuous 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 defied, - +In fact a noble passion, misnamed Pride. + He had no party's rage, no sect'ry's whim; +Christian and countrymen 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 run, +His strength departed, and his labour done; +When he, save honest fame, retain'd no more, +But lost his wife, and saw his children 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 for assistance 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, loth with him to feed, +Who gains his plenty by the sons of need; +He who, by contract, all your paupers took, +And gauges stomachs with an anxious look: +On some old master I 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 I suffer, but my fate sustain." + Such were his thoughts, and so resign'd he grew; +Daily he placed the Workhouse in his view! +But came not there, for sudden was his fate, +He dropp'd, expiring, at his cottage gate. + I feel his absence in the hours of prayer, +And view his seat, and sigh for Isaac there: +I see no more these white locks thinly spread +Round the bald polish of that honour'd head; +No more that awful glance on playful wight, +Compell'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; +Not one who posts from place to place--of men +And manners treating with a flying pen; +Not he who climbs, for prospects, Snowdon's height, +And chides the clouds that intercept the sight; +No curious shell, rare plant, or brilliant spar, +Enticed our traveller from his house 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 Dingley went. + Not thus by nature:- never man was found +Less prone to wander from his parish bound: +Claudian's Old Man, to whom all scenes were new, +Save those where he and where his apples grew, +Resembled Robin, 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 Dingley'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; +They proved the blood but were refused the land. +Assured of wealth, this man of simple heart +To every friend had predisposed a part; +His wife had hopes indulged of various kind; +The three Miss Dingleys had their school assign'd, +Masters were sought for what they each required, +And books were bought and harpsichords were hired; +So high was hope:- the failure touched 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 wandered in his rags at last: +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 its ugliest forms: +His cheeks were haggard, hollow was his eye, +Where madness lurk'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 clothed 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 elapsed, when, worn with want and pain. +Came Robin, wrapt in all his rags again: +We chide, we pity;--placed 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; +A 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 deemed a cheat. + Hard was his fare; for him 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 when it stopp'd, he tried in vain to stand; +Closed was his eye, and clench'd his clammy hand: +Life ebb'd apace, and our best aid 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 loosed 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 +Loosed from life's charm, and willing to depart; +But all her ties the strong invader broke, +In all their strength, by one tremendous stroke! +Sudden and swift the eager pest came on, +And terror grew, till every hope was gone; +Still those around appear'd for hope to seek! +But view'd the sick and were afraid 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 ill, 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 express'd 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 younger minds applied'. +"Be still, be patient;" oft she strove to stay; +But 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. + Arrived at home, how then they gazed around +On every 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 latticed bower, with trailing shrubs o'ergrown, +The Sunday-pew she fill'd with all her race, - +Each place of hers, was now a sacred place +That, while it call'd up sorrows in the eyes, +Pierced the full heart and forced 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 a share!) +Still let me feel for what thy pangs are sent, +And be my guide, and not my punishment! + Of Leah Cousins next the name appears, +With honours crown'd and blest with length of years, +Save that she lived 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 paid; +Who in the house of plenty largely fed, +Yet took her station at the pauper's bed; +Nor from that duty could be bribed again, +While fear or danger urged her to remain: +In her experience all her friends relied. +Heaven was her help and nature was her guide. + Thus Leah lived; 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 Glibb, who came with wond'rous 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 saved the Lady in the trying hour; +Saved 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 Glibb, 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 these the Dame espoused; the Doctor those, +The wealthier part to him and science went; +With luck and her the poor remain'd content. + The Matron sigh'd; for she was vex'd at heart, +With so much profit, so much fame, to part: +"So long successful in my art," she cried, +"And this proud man, so young and so untried!" +"Nay," said the Doctor, "dare you trust your wives, +The joy, the pride, the 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 what 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 my 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-spiced ale and aiding pipe, +The angry Matron grew for contest ripe. + "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 judgment but a lucky guess? +He boasts, but what he can do: --will you run +From me, your friend! who, all lie boasts, have done? +By proud and learned words his powers are known; +By healthy boys and handsome girls my 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 skill, +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: +The many left her, and the friendly few, +If never colder, yet they older grew; +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 this our changeful world, the Matron's clay, +Who to this world, at least, with equal care, +Brought them its changes, good and ill, to share. + Now to his grave was Roger Cuff conveyed, +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 landsman'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 supposed him dead: +Three nephews these, one sprightly niece, and one, +Less near in blood--they call'd him surly John; +He work'd in woods apart from all his kind, +Fierce were his 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 Cuffs with kinder souls shall share - +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 described 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! dost thou murmur?"--for, in Roger'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 distress'd: +Akin to thine is this declining frame, +And this poor beggar claims an Uncle's name." + "Avaunt! begone!" the courteous maiden said, +"Thou vile impostor! Uncle Roger's dead: +I hate thee, beast; thy look my spirit shocks; +Oh! that I saw thee starving in the stocks!" + "My gentle niece!" he said--and sought the wood, +"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; +And while that hand is thine, and thine a leg, +Scorn of the proud or of the base to beg." + "Come, surly John, thy wealthy kinsman view," +Old Roger said;--"thy words are brave 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'll 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, +With this restriction, That no Cuff should share +One meal, or shelter for one moment there. + My Record ends:- But hark! e'en 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!" +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 plied, +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: +Then as he paced the hallow'd aisles about, +He fill'd the seven-fold 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 anthem swell'd, and when it ceased, +Th'expecting people view'd their slumbering priest; +Who, dozing, died.--Our Parson Peele was next; +'I will not spare you,' was his favourite text; +Nor did he spare, but raised them many a pound; +E'en me he mulct for my poor rood of ground; +Yet cared he nought, but with a gibing speech, +'What should I do,' quoth he, 'but what I preach?' +His piercing jokes (and he'd a plenteous store) +Were daily offer'd both to rich and poor; +His scorn, his love, in playful 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 subdued his lively powers, - +His was the grave, and Doctor Grandspear ours. + "Then were there golden times the village round; +In his abundance all appear'd t'abound; +Liberal and rich, a plenteous board he spread, +E'en cool Dissenters at his table fed; +Who wish'd and hoped,--and thought a man so kind +A way to Heaven, though not their own, might find. +To them, to all, he 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?- What! the times are hard; +Drive that stout pig, and pen him in thy yard.' +But most, his rev'rence loved a mirthful jest:- +'Thy coat is thin; why, man, thou'rt BARELY dress'd +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 couldn't last: +A whoreson cough (and at the fall of leaf) +Upset him quite;--but what's the gain of grief? + "Then came the Author-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 reserved 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 inclined; +Not like a creeper falling to the ground, +Or meanly catching on the neighbours round: +Careless was he of surplice, hood, and band, - +And kindly took them as they came to hand, +Nor, like the doctor, wore a world of hat, +As if he sought for dignity in that: +He talk'd, he gave, but not with cautious rules; +Nor turn'd from gipsies, vagabonds, or fools; +It was his nature, but 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; +From 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 world 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 came a Youth from Cambridge, and in truth +He was a sober and a comely youth; +He blush'd in meekness as a modest man, +And gain'd attention ere his task began; +When preaching, seldom ventured on reproof, +But touch'd his neighbours tenderly enough. +Him, in his youth, a clamorous sect assail'd, +Advised and censured, flatter'd,--and prevail'd.- +Then did he much his sober hearers vex, +Confound the simple, and the sad 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 gazed, +Amazing all, and most himself amazed: +No more he read his preachments pure and plain, +But launch'd outright, and rose and sank again: +At times he smiled in scorn, at times he wept, +And such sad coil with words of vengeance kept, +That our blest sleepers started as they slept. + 'Conviction comes like light'ning,' he would cry; +'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 the child ere yet its reason wakes; +His reason fled, the ancient sire it shakes; +The proud, learn'd man, and him who loves to know +How and from whence those 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.' + "Such was the doctrine our young prophet taught; +And here conviction, there confusion wrought; +When his thin cheek assumed a deadly hue, +And all the 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 disclosed, +And lab'ring lungs the length'ning speech opposed. +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, +'I 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've done; +My moral-rags defile me every one; +It should not be:- what say'st thou! tell me, Ralph.' +Quoth I, 'Your reverence, I 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 was his end; and mine approaches fast; +I've seen my best of preachers,--and my last," - + He bow'd, and archly smiled 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; thus parents shall the child 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. + +1801. + + + +Footnotes: + +{1} Note: Indentation and Punctuation as original. + +{2} Allusions of this kind are to be found in the Fairy Queen. See +the end of the First Book, and other places. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 5208 *** diff --git a/5208-h/5208-h.htm b/5208-h/5208-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f30415a --- /dev/null +++ b/5208-h/5208-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2569 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Parish Register | Project Gutenberg</title> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 5208 ***</div> + +“THE PARISH REGISTER”, by GEORGE CRABBE (1754-1832) <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a><br/> +IN THREE PARTS.<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +PART I.<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +Tum porro puer (ut saevis projectus ab undis,<br/> +Navita) nudus humi jacet infans indigus omni<br/> +Vitali auxilio, -<br/> +Vagituque locum lugubri complet, ut aequum est,<br/> +Cui tantum in vita restat transire malorum.<br/> + LUCRETIUS, +De Rerum Natura, lib.5<br/> +<br/> +THE ARGUMENT.<br/> +<br/> +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 +Dwellings of one of these - A Public House - Garden and its Appendages +- Gamesters; rustic Sharpers &c. - Conclusion of the Introductory +Part.<br/> +<br/> +BAPTISMS.<br/> +<br/> +The Child of the Miller’s Daughter, and Relation of her Misfortune +- A frugal Couple; their Kind of Frugality - Plea of the Mother of a +natural Child; her Churching - Large Family of Gerard Ablett: his apprehensions: +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 having many - Characters of the Grocer Dawkins and his +Friend; their different Kinds of Disappointment - Three Infants named +- An Orphan Girl and Village School-mistress - Gardener’s Child: +Pedantry and Conceit of the Father: his botanical Discourse: Method +of fixing the Embryo-fruit of Cucumbers - Absurd Effects of Rustic Vanity: +observed in the names of their Children - Relation of the Vestry Debate +on a Foundling: Sir Richard Monday - Children of various Inhabitants +- The poor Farmer - Children of a Profligate: his Character and Fate +- Conclusion.<br/> +<br/> +The year revolves, and I again explore<br/> +The simple Annals of my Parish poor;<br/> +What Infant-members in my flock appear,<br/> +What Pairs I bless’d in the departed year;<br/> +And who, of Old or Young, or Nymphs or Swains,<br/> +Are lost to Life, its pleasures and its pains.<br/> + No Muse I ask, before my view to bring<br/> +The humble actions of the swains I sing. -<br/> +How pass’d the youthful, how the old their days;<br/> +Who sank in sloth, and who aspired to praise;<br/> +Their tempers, manners, morals, customs, arts,<br/> +What parts they had, and how they ’mploy’d their parts;<br/> +By what elated, soothed, seduced, depress’d,<br/> +Full well I know-these Records give the rest.<br/> + Is there a place, save one the poet sees,<br/> +A land of love, of liberty, and ease;<br/> +Where labour wearies not, nor cares suppress<br/> +Th’ eternal flow of rustic happiness;<br/> +Where no proud mansion frowns in awful state,<br/> +Or keeps the sunshine from the cottage-gate;<br/> +Where young and old, intent on pleasure, throng,<br/> +And half man’s life is holiday and song?<br/> +Vain search for scenes like these! no view appears,<br/> +By sighs unruffled or unstain’d by tears;<br/> +Since vice the world subdued and waters drown’d,<br/> +Auburn and Eden can no more be found.<br/> + Hence good and evil mixed, but man has skill<br/> +And power to part them, when he feels the will!<br/> +Toil, care, and patience bless th’ abstemious few,<br/> +Fear, shame, and want the thoughtless herd pursue.<br/> + Behold the Cot! where thrives th’ industrious +swain,<br/> +Source of his pride, his pleasure, and his gain;<br/> +Screen’d from the winter’s wind, the sun’s last ray<br/> +Smiles on the window and prolongs the day;<br/> +Projecting thatch the woodbine’s branches stop,<br/> +And turn their blossoms to the casement’s top:<br/> +All need requires is in that cot contain’d,<br/> +And much that taste untaught and unrestrain’d<br/> +Surveys delighted; there she loves to trace,<br/> +In one gay picture, all the royal race;<br/> +Around the walls are heroes, lovers, kings;<br/> +The print that shows them and the verse that sings.<br/> + Here the last Louis on his throne is seen,<br/> +And there he stands imprison’d, and his Queen;<br/> +To these the mother takes her child, and shows<br/> +What grateful duty to his God he owes;<br/> +Who gives to him a happy home, where he<br/> +Lives and enjoys his freedom with the free;<br/> +When kings and queens, dethroned, insulted, tried,<br/> +Are all these blessings of the poor denied.<br/> + There is King Charles, and all his Golden Rules,<br/> +Who proved Misfortune’s was the best of schools:<br/> +And there his Son, who, tried by years of pain,<br/> +Proved that misfortunes may be sent in vain.<br/> + The Magic-mill that grinds the gran’nams young,<br/> +Close at the side of kind Godiva hung;<br/> +She, of her favourite place the pride and joy,<br/> +Of charms at once most lavish and most coy,<br/> +By wanton act the purest fame could raise,<br/> +And give the boldest deed the chastest praise.<br/> + There stands the stoutest Ox in England fed;<br/> +There fights the boldest Jew, Whitechapel bred;<br/> +And here Saint Monday’s worthy votaries live,<br/> +In all the joys that ale and skittles give.<br/> + Now, lo! on Egypt’s coast that hostile fleet,<br/> +By nations dreaded and by NELSON beat;<br/> +And here shall soon another triumph come,<br/> +A deed of glory in a deed of gloom;<br/> +Distressing glory! grievous boon of fate!<br/> +The proudest conquest at the dearest rate.<br/> + On shelf of deal beside the cuckoo-clock,<br/> +Of cottage reading rests the chosen stock;<br/> +Learning we lack, not books, but have a kind<br/> +For all our wants, a meat for every mind.<br/> +The tale for wonder and the joke for whim,<br/> +The half-sung sermon and the half-groan’d hymn.<br/> +No need of classing; each within its place,<br/> +The feeling finger in the dark can trace;<br/> +“First from the corner, farthest from the wall,”<br/> +Such all the rules, and they suffice for all.<br/> + There pious works for Sunday’s use are found;<br/> +Companions for that Bible newly bound;<br/> +That Bible, bought by sixpence weekly saved,<br/> +Has choicest prints by famous hands engraved;<br/> +Has choicest notes by many a famous head,<br/> +Such as to doubt have rustic readers led;<br/> +Have made them stop to reason <i>why</i>? and <i>how</i>?<br/> +And, where they once agreed, to cavil now.<br/> +Oh! rather give me commentators plain,<br/> +Who with no deep researches vex the brain;<br/> +Who from the dark and doubtful love to run,<br/> +And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun;<br/> +Who simple truth with nine-fold reasons back,<br/> +And guard the point no enemies attack.<br/> + Bunyan’s famed Pilgrim rests that shelf upon;<br/> +A genius rare but rude was honest John;<br/> +Not one who, early by the Muse beguiled,<br/> +Drank from her well the waters undefiled;<br/> +Not one who slowly gained the hill sublime,<br/> +Then often sipp’d and little at a time;<br/> +But one who dabbled in the sacred springs,<br/> +And drank them muddy, mix’d with baser things.<br/> + Here to interpret dreams we read the rules,<br/> +Science our own! and never taught in schools;<br/> +In moles and specks we Fortune’s gifts discern,<br/> +And Fate’s fix’d will from Nature’s wanderings learn.<br/> + Of Hermit Quarll we read, in island rare,<br/> +Far from mankind and seeming far from care;<br/> +Safe from all want, and sound in every limb;<br/> +Yes! there was he, and there was care with him.<br/> + Unbound and heap’d, these valued tomes beside,<br/> +Lay humbler works, the pedlar’s pack supplied;<br/> +Yet these, long since, have all acquired a name:<br/> +The Wandering Jew has found his way to fame;<br/> +And fame, denied to many a labour’d song,<br/> +Crowns Thumb the Great, and Hickathrift the strong.<br/> + There too is he, by wizard-power upheld,<br/> +Jack, by whose arm the giant-brood were quell’d:<br/> +His shoes of swiftness on his feet he placed;<br/> +His coat of darkness on his loins he braced;<br/> +His sword of sharpness in his hand he took,<br/> +And off the heads of doughty giants stroke:<br/> +Their glaring eyes beheld no mortal near;<br/> +No sound of feet alarm’d the drowsy ear;<br/> +No English blood their Pagan sense could smell,<br/> +But heads dropt headlong, wondering why they fell.<br/> + These are the Peasant’s joy, when, placed at +ease,<br/> +Half his delighted offspring mount his knees.<br/> + To every cot the lord’s indulgent mind<br/> +Has a small space for garden-ground assign’d;<br/> +Here - till return of morn dismiss’d the farm -<br/> +The careful peasant plies the sinewy arm,<br/> +Warm’d as he works, and casts his look around<br/> +On every foot of that improving ground :<br/> +It is his own he sees; his master’s eye<br/> +Peers not about, some secret fault to spy;<br/> +Nor voice severe is there, nor censure known; -<br/> +Hope, profit, pleasure, - they are all his own.<br/> +Here grow the humble cives, and, hard by them,<br/> +The leek with crown globose and reedy stem;<br/> +High climb his pulse in many an even row,<br/> +Deep strike the ponderous roots in soil below;<br/> +And herbs of potent smell and pungent taste,<br/> +Give a warm relish to the night’s repast.<br/> + Apples and cherries grafted by his hand,<br/> +And cluster’d nuts for neighbouring market stand.<br/> + Nor thus concludes his labour; near the cot,<br/> +The reed-fence rises round some fav’rite spot;<br/> +Where rich carnations, pinks with purple eyes,<br/> +Proud hyacinths, the least some florist’s prize,<br/> +Tulips tall-stemm’d and pounced auriculas rise.<br/> + Here on a Sunday-eve, when service ends,<br/> +Meet and rejoice a family of friends;<br/> +All speak aloud, are happy and are free,<br/> +And glad they seem, and gaily they agree.<br/> +What, though fastidious ears may shun the speech,<br/> +Where all are talkers, and where none can teach;<br/> +Where still the welcome and the words are old,<br/> +And the same stories are for ever told;<br/> +Yet theirs is joy that, bursting from the heart,<br/> +Prompts the glad tongue these nothings to impart;<br/> +That forms these tones of gladness we despise,<br/> +That lifts their steps, that sparkles in their eyes;<br/> +That talks or laughs or runs or shouts or plays,<br/> +And speaks in all their looks and all their ways.<br/> + Fair scenes of peace! ye might detain us long,<br/> +But vice and misery now demand the song;<br/> +And turn our view from dwellings simply neat,<br/> +To this infected Row, we term our Street.<br/> + Here, in cabal, a disputatious crew<br/> +Each evening meet; the sot, the cheat, the shrew;<br/> +Riots are nightly heard: - the curse, the cries<br/> +Of beaten wife, perverse in her replies;<br/> +While shrieking children hold each threat’ning hand,<br/> +And sometimes life, and sometimes food demand:<br/> +Boys, in their first-stol’n rags, to swear begin,<br/> +And girls, who heed not dress, are skill’d in gin:<br/> +Snarers and smugglers here their gains divide;<br/> +Ensnaring females here their victims hide;<br/> +And here is one, the Sibyl of the Row,<br/> +Who knows all secrets, or affects to know.<br/> +Seeking their fate, to her the simple run,<br/> +To her the guilty, theirs awhile to shun;<br/> +Mistress of worthless arts, depraved in will,<br/> +Her care unblest and unrepaid her skill,<br/> +Slave to the tribe, to whose command she stoops,<br/> +And poorer than the poorest maid she dupes.<br/> + Between the road-way and the walls, offence<br/> +Invades all eyes and strikes on every sense;<br/> +There lie, obscene, at every open door,<br/> +Heaps from the hearth, and sweepings from the floor,<br/> +And day by day the mingled masses grow,<br/> +As sinks are disembogued and kennels flow.<br/> + There hungry dogs from hungry children steal;<br/> +There pigs and chickens quarrel for a meal;<br/> +Their dropsied infants wail without redress,<br/> +And all is want and woe and wretchedness;<br/> +Yet should these boys, with bodies bronzed and bare,<br/> +High-swoln and hard, outlive that lack of care -<br/> +Forced on some farm, the unexerted strength,<br/> +Though loth to action, is compell’d at length,<br/> +When warm’d by health, as serpents in the spring,<br/> +Aside their slough of indolence they fling.<br/> + Yet, ere they go, a greater evil comes -<br/> +See! crowded beds in those contiguous rooms;<br/> +Beds but ill parted, by a paltry screen<br/> +Of paper’d lath, or curtain dropt between;<br/> +Daughters and sons to yon compartments creep,<br/> +And parents here beside their children sleep:<br/> +Ye who have power, these thoughtless people part,<br/> +Nor let the ear be first to taint the heart.<br/> + Come! search within, nor sight nor smell regard;<br/> +The true physician walks the foulest ward.<br/> +See on the floor, where frousy patches rest!<br/> +What nauseous fragments on yon fractured chest!<br/> +What downy dust beneath yon window-seat!<br/> +And round these posts that serve this bed for feet;<br/> +This bed where all those tatter’d garments lie,<br/> +Worn by each sex, and now perforce thrown by!<br/> + See! as we gaze, an infant lifts its head,<br/> +Left by neglect and burrow’d in that bed;<br/> +The Mother-gossip has the love suppress’d<br/> +An infant’s cry once waken’d in her breast;<br/> +And daily prattles, as her round she takes<br/> +(With strong resentment), of the want she makes.<br/> + Whence all these woes? - From want of virtuous will,<br/> +Of honest shame, of time-improving skill;<br/> +From want of care t’employ the vacant hour,<br/> +And want of every kind but want of power.<br/> + Here are no wheels for either wool or flax,<br/> +But packs of cards - made up of sundry packs;<br/> +Here is no clock, nor will they turn the glass,<br/> +And see how swift th’ important moments pass;<br/> +Here are no books, but ballads on the wall,<br/> +Are some abusive, and indecent all;<br/> +Pistols are here, unpair’d; with nets and hooks,<br/> +Of every kind, for rivers, ponds, and brooks;<br/> +An ample flask, that nightly rovers fill<br/> +With recent poison from the Dutchman’s still;<br/> +A box of tools, with wires of various size,<br/> +Frocks, wigs, and hats, for night or day disguise,<br/> +And bludgeons stout to gain or guard a prize.<br/> + To every house belongs a space of ground,<br/> +Of equal size, once fenced with paling round;<br/> +That paling now by slothful waste destroyed,<br/> +Dead gorse and stumps of elder fill the void;<br/> +Save in the centre-spot, whose walls of clay<br/> +Hide sots and striplings at their drink or play:<br/> +Within, a board, beneath a tiled retreat,<br/> +Allures the bubble and maintains the cheat;<br/> +Where heavy ale in spots like varnish shows,<br/> +Where chalky tallies yet remain in rows;<br/> +Black pipes and broken jugs the seats defile,<br/> +The walls and windows, rhymes and reck’nings vile;<br/> +Prints of the meanest kind disgrace the door,<br/> +And cards, in curses torn, lie fragments on the floor.<br/> + Here his poor bird th’ inhuman Cocker brings,<br/> +Arms his hard heel and clips his golden wings;<br/> +With spicy food th’ impatient spirit feeds,<br/> +And shouts and curses as the battle bleeds.<br/> +Struck through the brain, deprived of both his eyes,<br/> +The vanquished bird must combat till he dies;<br/> +Must faintly peck at his victorious foe,<br/> +And reel and stagger at each feeble blow:<br/> +When fallen, the savage grasps his dabbled plumes,<br/> +His blood-stain’d arms, for other deaths assumes;<br/> +And damns the craven-fowl, that lost his stake,<br/> +And only bled and perished for his sake.<br/> + Such are our Peasants, those to whom we yield<br/> +Praise with relief, the fathers of the field;<br/> +And these who take from our reluctant hands<br/> +What Burn advises or the Bench commands.<br/> + Our Farmers round, well pleased with constant gain,<br/> +Like other farmers, flourish and complain. -<br/> +These are our groups; our Portraits next appear,<br/> +And close our Exhibition for the year.<br/> +<br/> + -------------<br/> +<br/> + WITH evil omen we that year begin:<br/> +A Child of Shame, - stern Justice adds, of Sin,<br/> +Is first recorded; - I would hide the deed,<br/> +But vain the wish; I sigh, and I proceed:<br/> +And could I well th’instructive truth convey,<br/> +’Twould warn the giddy and awake the gay.<br/> + Of all the nymphs who gave our village grace,<br/> +The Miller’s daughter had the fairest face:<br/> +Proud was the Miller; money was his pride;<br/> +He rode to market, as our farmers ride,<br/> +And ’twas his boast, inspired by spirits, there,<br/> +His favourite Lucy should be rich as fair;<br/> +But she must meek and still obedient prove,<br/> +And not presume, without his leave, to love.<br/> + A youthful Sailor heard him; - “Ha!” quoth +he,<br/> +“This Miller’s maiden is a prize for me;<br/> +Her charms I love, his riches I desire,<br/> +And all his threats but fan the kindling fire;<br/> +My ebbing purse no more the foe shall fill,<br/> +But Love’s kind act and Lucy at the mill.”<br/> + Thus thought the youth, and soon the chase began,<br/> +Stretch’d all his sail, nor thought of pause or plan:<br/> +His trusty staff in his bold hand he took,<br/> +Like him and like his frigate, heart of oak;<br/> +Fresh were his features, his attire was new;<br/> +Clean was his linen, and his jacket blue:<br/> +Of finest jean his trousers, tight and trim,<br/> +Brush’d the large buckle at the silver rim.<br/> + He soon arrived, he traced the village-green,<br/> +There saw the maid, and was with pleasure seen;<br/> +Then talk’d of love, till Lucy’s yielding heart<br/> +Confess’d ’twas painful, though ’twas right to part.<br/> + “For ah! my father has a haughty soul;<br/> +Whom best he loves, he loves but to control;<br/> +Me to some churl in bargain he’ll consign,<br/> +And make some tyrant of the parish mine:<br/> +Cold is his heart, and he with looks severe<br/> +Has often forced but never shed the tear;<br/> +Save, when my mother died, some drops expressed<br/> +A kind of sorrow for a wife at rest: -<br/> +To me a master’s stern regard is shown,<br/> +I’m like his steed, prized highly as his own;<br/> +Stroked but corrected, threatened when supplied,<br/> +His slave and boast, his victim and his pride.”<br/> + “Cheer up, my lass! I’ll to thy father +go,<br/> +The Miller cannot be the Sailor’s foe;<br/> +Both live by Heaven’s free gale, that plays aloud<br/> +In the stretch’d canvass and the piping shroud;<br/> +The rush of winds, the flapping sails above,<br/> +And rattling planks within, are sounds we love;<br/> +Calms are our dread; when tempests plough the deep,<br/> +We take a reef, and to the rocking sleep.”<br/> + “Ha!” quoth the Miller, moved at speech +so rash,<br/> +“Art thou like me? then where thy notes and cash?<br/> +Away to Wapping, and a wife command,<br/> +With all thy wealth, a guinea in thine hand;<br/> +There with thy messmates quaff the muddy cheer,<br/> +And leave my Lucy for thy betters here.”<br/> + “Revenge! revenge!” the angry lover cried,<br/> +Then sought the nymph, and “Be thou now my bride.”<br/> +Bride had she been, but they no priest could move<br/> +To bind in law the couple bound by love.<br/> + What sought these lovers then by day by night?<br/> +But stolen moments of disturb’d delight;<br/> +Soft trembling tumults, terrors dearly prized,<br/> +Transports that pain’d, and joys that agonised;<br/> +Till the fond damsel, pleased with lad so trim,<br/> +Awed by her parent, and enticed by him,<br/> +Her lovely form from savage power to save,<br/> +Gave - not her hand - but ALL she could she gave.<br/> + Then came the day of shame, the grievous night,<br/> +The varying look, the wandering appetite;<br/> +The joy assumed, while sorrow dimm’d the eyes,<br/> +The forced sad smiles that follow’d sudden sighs;<br/> +And every art, long used, but used in vain,<br/> +To hide thy progress, Nature, and thy pain.<br/> + Too eager caution shows some danger’s near,<br/> +The bully’s bluster proves the coward’s fear;<br/> +His sober step the drunkard vainly tries,<br/> +And nymphs expose the failings they disguise.<br/> + First, whispering gossips were in parties seen,<br/> +Then louder Scandal walk’d the village - green;<br/> +Next babbling Folly told the growing ill,<br/> +And busy Malice dropp’d it at the mill.<br/> + “Go! to thy curse and mine,” the Father +said,<br/> +“Strife and confusion stalk around thy bed;<br/> +Want and a wailing brat thy portion be,<br/> +Plague to thy fondness, as thy fault to me; -<br/> +Where skulks the villain?” -<br/> + “On +the ocean wide<br/> +My William seeks a portion for his bride.” -<br/> + “Vain be his search; but, till the traitor come,<br/> +The higgler’s cottage be thy future home;<br/> +There with his ancient shrew and care abide,<br/> +And hide thy head, - thy shame thou canst not hide.”<br/> + Day after day was pass’d in pains and grief;<br/> +Week follow’d week, - and still was no relief:<br/> +Her boy was born - no lads nor lasses came<br/> +To grace the rite or give the child a name;<br/> +Nor grave conceited nurse, of office proud,<br/> +Bore the young Christian roaring through the crowd:<br/> +In a small chamber was my office done,<br/> +Where blinks through paper’d panes the setting sun;<br/> +Where noisy sparrows, perch’d on penthouse near,<br/> +Chirp tuneless joy, and mock the frequent tear;<br/> +Bats on their webby wings in darkness move,<br/> +And feebly shriek their melancholy love.<br/> + No Sailor came; the months in terror fled!<br/> +Then news arrived - He fought, and he was DEAD!<br/> + At the lone cottage Lucy lives, and still<br/> +Walks for her weekly pittance to the mill;<br/> +A mean seraglio there her father keeps,<br/> +Whose mirth insults her, as she stands and weeps;<br/> +And sees the plenty, while compell’d to stay,<br/> +Her father’s pride, become his harlot’s prey.<br/> + Throughout the lanes she glides, at evening’s +close,<br/> +And softly lulls her infant to repose;<br/> +Then sits and gazes, but with viewless look,<br/> +As gilds the moon the rippling of the brook;<br/> +And sings her vespers, but in voice so low,<br/> +She hears their murmurs as the waters flow:<br/> +And she too murmurs, and begins to find<br/> +The solemn wanderings of a wounded mind.<br/> +Visions of terror, views of woe succeed,<br/> +The mind’s impatience, to the body’s need;<br/> +By turns to that, by turns to this a prey,<br/> +She knows what reason yields, and dreads what madness may.<br/> + Next, with their boy, a decent couple came,<br/> +And call’d him Robert, ’twas his father’s name;<br/> +Three girls preceded, all by time endear’d,<br/> +And future births were neither hoped nor fear’d:<br/> +Blest in each other, but to no excess,<br/> +Health, quiet, comfort, form’d their happiness;<br/> +Love all made up of torture and delight,<br/> +Was but mere madness in this couple’s sight:<br/> +Susan could think, though not without a sigh,<br/> +If she were gone, who should her place supply;<br/> +And Robert, half in earnest, half in jest,<br/> +Talk of her spouse when he should be at rest:<br/> +Yet strange would either think it to be told,<br/> +Their love was cooling or their hearts were cold.<br/> +Few were their acres, - but, with these content,<br/> +They were, each pay-day, ready with their rent:<br/> +And few their wishes - what their farm denied,<br/> +The neighbouring town, at trifling cost, supplied.<br/> +If at the draper’s window Susan cast<br/> +A longing look, as with her goods she pass’d,<br/> +And, with the produce of the wheel and churn,<br/> +Bought her a Sunday - robe on her return;<br/> +True to her maxim, she would take no rest,<br/> +Till care repaid that portion to the chest:<br/> +Or if, when loitering at the Whitsun-fair,<br/> +Her Robert spent some idle shillings there;<br/> +Up at the barn, before the break of day,<br/> +He made his labour for th’ indulgence pay:<br/> +Thus both - that waste itself might work in vain -<br/> +Wrought double tides, and all was well again.<br/> + Yet, though so prudent, there were times of joy,<br/> +(The day they wed, the christening of the boy.)<br/> +When to the wealthier farmers there was shown<br/> +Welcome unfeign’d, and plenty like their own;<br/> +For Susan served the great, and had some pride<br/> +Among our topmost people to preside:<br/> +Yet in that plenty, in that welcome free,<br/> +There was the guiding nice frugality,<br/> +That, in the festal as the frugal day,<br/> +Has, in a different mode, a sovereign sway;<br/> +As tides the same attractive influence know,<br/> +In the least ebb and in their proudest flow;<br/> +The wise frugality, that does not give<br/> +A life to saving, but that saves to live;<br/> +Sparing, not pinching, mindful though not mean,<br/> +O’er all presiding, yet in nothing seen.<br/> + Recorded next a babe of love I trace!<br/> +Of many loves, the mother’s fresh disgrace. -<br/> + “Again, thou harlot! could not all thy pain,<br/> +All my reproof, thy wanton thoughts restrain?”<br/> + “Alas! your reverence, wanton thoughts, I grant,<br/> +Were once my motive, now the thoughts of want;<br/> +Women, like me, as ducks in a decoy,<br/> +Swim down a stream, and seem to swim in joy.<br/> +Your sex pursue us, and our own disdain;<br/> +Return is dreadful, and escape is vain.<br/> +Would men forsake us, and would women strive<br/> +To help the fall’n, their virtue might revive.”<br/> + For rite of churching soon she made her way,<br/> +In dread of scandal, should she miss the day: -<br/> +Two matrons came! with them she humbly knelt,<br/> +Their action copied and their comforts felt,<br/> +From that great pain and peril to be free,<br/> +Though still in peril of that pain to be;<br/> +Alas! what numbers, like this amorous dame,<br/> +Are quick to censure, but are dead to shame!<br/> + Twin-infants then appear; a girl, a boy,<br/> +Th’ overflowing cup of Gerard Ablett’s joy:<br/> +One had I named in every year that passed<br/> +Since Gerard wed! and twins behold at last!<br/> +Well pleased, the bridegroom smiled to hear - “A vine<br/> +Fruitful and spreading round the walls be thine,<br/> +And branch-like be thine offspring!” - Gerard then<br/> +Look’d joyful love, and softly said “Amen.”<br/> +Now of that vine he’d have no more increase,<br/> +Those playful branches now disturb his peace:<br/> +Them he beholds around his tables spread,<br/> +But finds, the more the branch, the less the bread;<br/> +And while they run his humble walls about,<br/> +They keep the sunshine of good humour out.<br/> + Cease, man, to grieve! thy master’s lot survey,<br/> +Whom wife and children, thou and thine obey;<br/> +A farmer proud, beyond a farmer’s pride,<br/> +Of all around the envy or the guide;<br/> +Who trots to market on a steed so fine,<br/> +That when I meet him, I’m ashamed of mine;<br/> +Whose board is high upheaved with generous fare,<br/> +Which five stout sons and three tall daughters share.<br/> +Cease, man, to grieve, and listen to his care.<br/> + A few years fled, and all thy boys shall be<br/> +Lords of a cot, and labourers like thee:<br/> +Thy girls unportion’d neighb’ring youths shall lead<br/> +Brides from my church, and thenceforth thou art freed:<br/> +But then thy master shall of cares complain,<br/> +Care after care, a long connected train;<br/> +His sons for farms shall ask a large supply,<br/> +For farmers’ sons each gentle miss shall sigh;<br/> +Thy mistress, reasoning well of life’s decay,<br/> +Shall ask a chaise, and hardly brook delay;<br/> +The smart young cornet, who with so much grace<br/> +Rode in the ranks and betted at the race,<br/> +While the vex’d parent rails at deed so rash,<br/> +Shall d**n his luck, and stretch his hand for cash.<br/> +Sad troubles, Gerard! now pertain to thee,<br/> +When thy rich master seems from trouble free;<br/> +But ’tis one fate at different times assign’d,<br/> +And thou shalt lose the cares that he must find.<br/> + “Ah!” quoth our village Grocer, rich and +old,<br/> +“Would I might one such cause for care behold!”<br/> +To whom his Friend, “Mine greater bliss would be,<br/> +Would Heav’n take those my spouse assigns to me.”<br/> + Aged were both, that Dawkins, Ditchem this,<br/> +Who much of marriage thought, and much amiss;<br/> +Both would delay, the one, till - riches gain’d,<br/> +The son he wish’d might be to honour train’d;<br/> +His Friend - lest fierce intruding heirs should come,<br/> +To waste his hoard and vex his quiet home.<br/> + Dawkins, a dealer once, on burthen’d back<br/> +Bore his whole substance in a pedlar’s pack;<br/> +To dames discreet, the duties yet unpaid,<br/> +His stores of lace and hyson he convey’d:<br/> +When thus enriched, he chose at home to stop,<br/> +And fleece his neighbours in a new-built shop;<br/> +Then woo’d a spinster blithe, and hoped, when wed,<br/> +For love’s fair favours and a fruitful bed.<br/> +Not so his Friend; - on widow fair and staid<br/> +He fix’d his eye, but he was much afraid;<br/> +Yet woo’d; while she his hair of silver hue<br/> +Demurely noticed, and her eye withdrew:<br/> +Doubtful he paused - “Ah! were I sure,” he cried,<br/> +No craving children would my gains divide;<br/> +Fair as she is, I would my widow take,<br/> +And live more largely for my partner’s sake.”<br/> +With such their views some thoughtful years they pass’d,<br/> +And hoping, dreading, they were bound at last.<br/> +And what their fate? Observe them as they go,<br/> +Comparing fear with fear and woe with woe.<br/> +“Humphrey!” said Dawkins, “envy in my breast<br/> +Sickens to see thee in thy children blest:<br/> +They are thy joys, while I go grieving home<br/> +To a sad spouse, and our eternal gloom:<br/> +We look despondency; no infant near,<br/> +To bless the eye or win the parent’s ear;<br/> +Our sudden heats and quarrels to allay,<br/> +And soothe the petty sufferings of the day:<br/> +Alike our want, yet both the want reprove;<br/> +Where are, I cry, these pledges of our love?<br/> +When she, like Jacob’s wife, makes fierce reply,<br/> +Yet fond - Oh! give me children, or I die:<br/> +And I return - still childless doom’d to live,<br/> +Like the vex’d patriarch - Are they mine to give?<br/> +Ah! much I envy thee thy boys, who ride<br/> +On poplar branch, and canter at thy side;<br/> +And girls, whose cheeks thy chin’s fierce fondness know,<br/> +And with fresh beauty at the contact glow.”<br/> + “Oh! simple friend,” said Ditchem, “wouldst +thou gain<br/> +A father’s pleasure by a husband’s pain?<br/> +Alas! what pleasure - when some vig’rous boy<br/> +Should swell thy pride, some rosy girl thy joy;<br/> +Is it to doubt who grafted this sweet flower,<br/> +Or whence arose that spirit and that power?<br/> + “Four years I’ve wed; not one has passed +in vain;<br/> +Behold the fifth! behold a babe again!<br/> +My wife’s gay friends th’ unwelcome imp admire,<br/> +And fill the room with gratulation dire:<br/> +While I in silence sate, revolving all<br/> +That influence ancient men, or that befall;<br/> +A gay pert guest - Heav’n knows his business - came;<br/> +A glorious boy! he cried, and what the name?<br/> +Angry I growl’d, - My spirit cease to tease,<br/> +Name it yourselves, - Cain, Judas, if you please;<br/> +His father’s give him, - should you that explore,<br/> +The devil’s or yours: - I said, and sought the door.<br/> +My tender partner not a word or sigh<br/> +Gives to my wrath, nor to my speech reply;<br/> +But takes her comforts, triumphs in my pain,<br/> +And looks undaunted for a birth again.”<br/> + Heirs thus denied afflict the pining heart,<br/> +And thus afforded, jealous pangs impart;<br/> +Let, therefore, none avoid, and none demand<br/> +These arrows number’d for the giant’s hand.<br/> + Then with their infants three, the parents came,<br/> +And each assign’d - ’twas all they had - a name;<br/> +Names of no mark or price; of them not one<br/> +Shall court our view on the sepulchral stone,<br/> +Or stop the clerk, th’ engraven scrolls to spell,<br/> +Or keep the sexton from the sermon bell.<br/> + An orphan-girl succeeds: ere she was born<br/> +Her father died, her mother on that morn:<br/> +The pious mistress of the school sustains<br/> +Her parents’ part, nor their affection feigns,<br/> +But pitying feels: with due respect and joy,<br/> +I trace the matron at her loved employ;<br/> +What time the striplings, wearied e’en with play,<br/> +Part at the closing of the summer’s day,<br/> +And each by different path returns the well-known way<br/> +Then I behold her at her cottage-door,<br/> +Frugal of light; - her Bible laid before,<br/> +When on her double duty she proceeds,<br/> +Of time as frugal - knitting as she reads:<br/> +Her idle neighbours, who approach to tell<br/> +Some trifling tale, her serious looks compel<br/> +To hear reluctant, - while the lads who pass,<br/> +In pure respect, walk silent on the grass:<br/> +Then sinks the day, but not to rest she goes,<br/> +Till solemn prayers the daily duties close.<br/> +But I digress, and lo! an infant train<br/> +Appear, and call me to my task again.<br/> + “Why Lonicera wilt thou name thy child?”<br/> +I ask the Gardener’s wife, in accents mild:<br/> +“We have a right,” replied the sturdy dame; -<br/> +And Lonicera was the infant’s name.<br/> +If next a son shall yield our Gardener joy,<br/> +Then Hyacinthus shall be that fair boy;<br/> +And if a girl, they will at length agree<br/> +That Belladonna that fair maid shall be.<br/> + High-sounding words our worthy Gardener gets,<br/> +And at his club to wondering swains repeats;<br/> +He then of Rhus and Rhododendron speaks,<br/> +And Allium calls his onions and his leeks;<br/> +Nor weeds are now, for whence arose the weed,<br/> +Scarce plants, fair herbs, and curious flowers proceed,<br/> +Where Cuckoo-pints and Dandelions sprung<br/> +(Gross names had they our plainer sires among),<br/> +There Arums, there Leontodons we view,<br/> +And Artemisia grows where wormwood grew.<br/> + But though no weed exists his garden round,<br/> +From Rumex strong our Gardener frees his ground,<br/> +Takes soft Senecio from the yielding land,<br/> +And grasps the arm’d Urtica in his hand.<br/> + Not Darwin’s self had more delight to sing<br/> +Of floral courtship, in th’ awaken’d Spring,<br/> +Than Peter Pratt, who simpering loves to tell<br/> +How rise the Stamens, as the Pistils swell;<br/> +How bend and curl the moist-top to the spouse,<br/> +And give and take the vegetable vows;<br/> +How those esteem’d of old but tips and chives,<br/> +Are tender husbands and obedient wives;<br/> +Who live and love within the sacred bower, -<br/> +That bridal bed, the vulgar term a flower.<br/> + Hear Peter proudly, to some humble friend,<br/> +A wondrous secret, in his science, lend: -<br/> +“Would you advance the nuptial hour and bring<br/> +The fruit of Autumn with the flowers of Spring;<br/> +View that light frame where Cucumis lies spread,<br/> +And trace the husbands in their golden bed,<br/> +Three powder’d Anthers; - then no more delay,<br/> +But to the stigma’s tip their dust convey;<br/> +Then by thyself, from prying glance secure,<br/> +Twirl the full tip and make your purpose sure;<br/> +A long-abiding race the deed shall pay,<br/> +Nor one unblest abortion pine away.”<br/> + T’admire their Mend’s discourse our swains +agree,<br/> +And call it science and philosophy.<br/> + “’Tis good, ’tis pleasant, through +th’ advancing year,<br/> +To see unnumbered growing forms appear;<br/> +What leafy-life from Earth’s broad bosom rise!<br/> +What insect myriads seek the summer skies!<br/> +What scaly tribes in every streamlet move;<br/> +What plumy people sing in every grove!<br/> +All with the year awaked to life, delight, and love.<br/> +Then names are good; for how, without their aid,<br/> +Is knowledge, gain’d by man, to man convey’d?<br/> +But from that source shall all our pleasures flow?<br/> +Shall all our knowledge be those names to know?<br/> +Then he, with memory blest, shall bear away<br/> +The palm from Grew, and Middleton, and Ray:<br/> +No! let us rather seek, in grove and field,<br/> +What food for wonder, what for use they yield;<br/> +Some just remark from Nature’s people bring,<br/> +And some new source of homage for her King.<br/> + Pride lives with all; strange names our rustics give<br/> +To helpless infants, that their own may live;<br/> +Pleased to be known, they’ll some attention claim,<br/> +And find some by-way to the house of fame.<br/> + The straightest furrow lifts the ploughman’s +art,<br/> +The hat he gained has warmth for head and heart;<br/> +The bowl that beats the greater number down<br/> +Of tottering nine-pins, gives to fame the clown;<br/> +Or, foil’d in these, he opes his ample jaws,<br/> +And lets a frog leap down, to gain applause;<br/> +Or grins for hours, or tipples for a week,<br/> +Or challenges a well-pinch’d pig to squeak:<br/> +Some idle deed, some child’s preposterous name,<br/> +Shall make him known, and give his folly fame.<br/> + To name an infant meet our village sires,<br/> +Assembled all as such event requires;<br/> +Frequent and full, the rural sages sate,<br/> +And speakers many urged the long debate, -<br/> +Some harden’d knaves, who roved the country round,<br/> +Had left a babe within the parish bound. -<br/> +First, of the fact they question’d - “Was it true?”<br/> +The child was brought - “What then remained to do?”<br/> +“Was’t dead or living?” This was fairly proved, +-<br/> +’Twas pinched, it roar’d, and every doubt removed.<br/> +Then by what name th’ unwelcome guest to call<br/> +Was long a question, and it posed them all;<br/> +For he who lent it to a babe unknown,<br/> +Censorious men might take it for his own:<br/> +They look’d about, they gravely spoke to all,<br/> +And not one <i>Richard</i> answer’d to the call.<br/> +Next they inquired the day, when, passing by,<br/> +Th’ unlucky peasant heard the stranger’s cry:<br/> +This known, - how food and raiment they might give<br/> +Was next debated - for the rogue would live;<br/> +At last, with all their words and work content,<br/> +Back to their homes the prudent vestry went,<br/> +And <i>Richard Monday</i> to the workhouse sent.<br/> + There was he pinched and pitied, thump’d and +fed,<br/> +And duly took his beatings and his bread;<br/> +Patient in all control, in all abuse,<br/> +He found contempt and kicking have their use:<br/> +Sad, silent, supple; bending to the blow,<br/> +A slave of slaves, the lowest of the low;<br/> +His pliant soul gave way to all things base,<br/> +He knew no shame, he dreaded no disgrace.<br/> +It seem’d, so well his passions he suppress’d,<br/> +No feeling stirr’d his ever-torpid breast;<br/> +Him might the meanest pauper bruise and cheat,<br/> +He was a footstool for the beggar’s feet;<br/> +His were the legs that ran at all commands;<br/> +They used on all occasions Richard’s hands:<br/> +His very soul was not his own; he stole<br/> +As others order’d, and without a dole;<br/> +In all disputes, on either part he lied,<br/> +And freely pledged his oath on either side;<br/> +In all rebellions Richard joined the rest,<br/> +In all detections Richard first confess’d;<br/> +Yet, though disgraced, he watched his time so well,<br/> +He rose in favour when in fame he fell;<br/> +Base was his usage, vile his whole employ,<br/> +And all despised and fed the pliant boy.<br/> +At length “’Tis time he should abroad be sent,”<br/> +Was whispered near him, - and abroad he went;<br/> +One morn they call’d him, Richard answer’d not;<br/> +They deem’d him hanging, and in time forgot, -<br/> +Yet miss’d him long, as each throughout the clan<br/> +Found he “had better spared a better man.”<br/> + Now Richard’s talents for the world were fit,<br/> +He’d no small cunning, and had some small wit;<br/> +Had that calm look which seem’d to all assent,<br/> +And that complacent speech which nothing meant:<br/> +He’d but one care, and that he strove to hide -<br/> +How best for Richard Monday to provide.<br/> +Steel, through opposing plates, the magnet draws,<br/> +And steely atoms culls from dust and straws;<br/> +And thus our hero, to his interest true,<br/> +Gold through all bars and from each trifle drew;<br/> +But still more surely round the world to go,<br/> +This fortune’s child had neither friend nor foe.<br/> + Long lost to us, at last our man we trace, -<br/> +“Sir Richard Monday died at Monday Place:”<br/> +His lady’s worth, his daughter’s, we peruse,<br/> +And find his grandsons all as rich as Jews:<br/> +He gave reforming charities a sum,<br/> +And bought the blessings of the blind and dumb;<br/> +Bequeathed to missions money from the stocks,<br/> +And Bibles issued from his private box;<br/> +But to his native place severely just,<br/> +He left a pittance bound in rigid trust; -<br/> +Two paltry pounds, on every quarter’s-day,<br/> +(At church produced) for forty loaves should pay;<br/> +A stinted gift that to the parish shows<br/> +He kept in mind their bounty and their blows!<br/> + To farmers three, the year has given a son,<br/> +<i>Finch</i> on the Moor, and <i>French</i>, and <i>Middleton</i>.<br/> +Twice in this year a female Giles I see,<br/> +A Spalding once, and once a <i>Barnaby</i>: -<br/> +A humble man is <i>he</i>, and when they meet,<br/> +Our farmers find him on a distant seat;<br/> +There for their wit he serves a constant theme, -<br/> +“They praise his dairy, they extol his team,<br/> +They ask the price of each unrivall’d steed,<br/> +And whence his sheep, that admirable breed.<br/> +His thriving arts they beg he would explain,<br/> +And where he puts the money he must gain.<br/> +They have their daughters, but they fear their friend<br/> +Would think his sons too much would condescend: -<br/> +They have their sons who would their fortunes try,<br/> +But fear his daughters will their suit deny.”<br/> +So runs the joke, while James, with sigh profound,<br/> +And face of care, looks moveless on the ground;<br/> +His cares, his sighs, provoke the insult more,<br/> +And point the jest - for Barnaby is poor.<br/> + Last in my list, five untaught lads appear;<br/> +Their father dead, compassion sent them here, -<br/> +For still that rustic infidel denied<br/> +To have their names with solemn rite applied:<br/> +His, a lone house, by Deadman’s Dyke-way stood;<br/> +And his a nightly haunt, in Lonely-wood:<br/> +Each village inn has heard the ruffian boast,<br/> +That he believed “in neither God nor ghost;<br/> +That when the sod upon the sinner press’d,<br/> +He, like the saint, had everlasting rest;<br/> +That never priest believed his doctrines true,<br/> +But would, for profit, own himself a Jew,<br/> +Or worship wood and stone, as honest heathen do;<br/> +That fools alone on future worlds rely,<br/> +And all who die for faith deserve to die.”<br/> + These maxims, - part th’ Attorney’s Clerk +profess’d,<br/> +His own transcendent genius found the rest.<br/> +Our pious matrons heard, and, much amazed,<br/> +Gazed on the man, and trembled as they gazed;<br/> +And now his face explored, and now his feet,<br/> +Man’s dreaded foe in this bad man to meet:<br/> +But him our drunkards as their champion raised,<br/> +Their bishop call’d, and as their hero praised:<br/> +Though most, when sober, and the rest, when sick,<br/> +Had little question whence his bishopric.<br/> + But he, triumphant spirit! all things dared;<br/> +He poach’d the wood, and on the warren snared;<br/> +’Twas his, at cards, each novice to trepan,<br/> +And call the want of rogues “the rights of man;”<br/> +Wild as the winds he let his offspring rove,<br/> +And deem’d the marriage-bond the bane of love.<br/> + What age and sickness, for a man so bold,<br/> +Had done, we know not; - none beheld him old;<br/> +By night, as business urged, he sought the wood; -<br/> +The ditch was deep, - the rain had caused a flood, -<br/> +The foot-bridge fail’d, - he plunged beneath the deep,<br/> +And slept, if truth were his, th’eternal sleep.<br/> + These have we named; on life’s rough sea they +sail,<br/> +With many a prosperous, many an adverse gale!<br/> +Where passion soon, like powerful winds, will rage,<br/> +And prudence, wearied, with their strength engage:<br/> +Then each, in aid, shall some companion ask,<br/> +For help or comfort in the tedious task;<br/> +And what that help - what joys from union flow,<br/> +What good or ill, we next prepare to show;<br/> +And row, meantime, our weary bark to shore,<br/> +As Spenser his - but not with Spenser’s oar. <a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2">{2}</a><br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +PART II.<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +Nubere si qua voles, quamvis properabitis ambo,<br/> +Differ; habent parvae commoda magna morae.<br/> + OVID, +Fasti, lib.iii.<br/> +<br/> +MARRIAGES.<br/> +<br/> +Previous Consideration necessary: yet not too long Delay - Imprudent +Marriage of old Kirk and his Servant - Comparison between an ancient +and youthful Partner to a young Man - Prudence of Donald the Gardener +- Parish Wedding: the compelled Bridegroom: Day of Marriage, how spent +- Relation of the Accomplishments of Phœbe Dawson, a rustic Beauty: +her Lover: his Courtship: their Marriage - Misery of Precipitation - +The wealthy Couple: Reluctance in the Husband; why? - Unusually fair +Signatures in the Register: the common Kind - Seduction of Lucy Collins +by Footman Daniel: her rustic Lover: her Return to him - An ancient +Couple: Comparisons on the Occasion - More pleasant View of Village +Matrimony: Farmers celebrating the Day of Marriage: their Wives - Reuben +and Rachael, a happy Pair: an example of prudent Delay - Reflections +on their State who were not so prudent, and its Improvement towards +the Termination of Life: an old Man so circumstanced - Attempt to seduce +a Village Beauty: Persuasion and Reply: the Event.<br/> +<br/> +DISPOSED to wed, e’en while you hasten, stay;<br/> +There’s great advantage in a small delay:<br/> +Thus Ovid sang, and much the wise approve<br/> +This prudent maxim of the priest of Love;<br/> +If poor, delay for future want prepares,<br/> +And eases humble life of half its cares;<br/> +If rich, delay shall brace the thoughtful mind,<br/> +T’endure the ills that e’en the happiest find:<br/> +Delay shall knowledge yield on either part,<br/> +And show the value of the vanquish’d heart;<br/> +The humours, passions, merits, failings prove,<br/> +And gently raise the veil that’s worn by Love;<br/> +Love, that impatient guide! - too proud to think<br/> +Of vulgar wants, of clothing, meat, and drink,<br/> +Urges our amorous swains their joys to seize,<br/> +And then, at rags and hunger frighten’d, flees:<br/> +Yet not too long in cold debate remain;<br/> +Till age refrain not - but if old, refrain.<br/> + By no such rule would Gaffer Kirk be tried;<br/> +First in the year he led a blooming bride,<br/> +And stood a wither’d elder at her side.<br/> +Oh! Nathan! Nathan! at thy years trepann’d,<br/> +To take a wanton harlot by the hand!<br/> +Thou, who wert used so tartly to express<br/> +Thy sense of matrimonial happiness,<br/> +Till every youth, whose banns at church were read,<br/> +Strove not to meet, or meeting, hung his head;<br/> +And every lass forebore at thee to look,<br/> +A sly old fish, too cunning for the hook;<br/> +And now at sixty, that pert dame to see,<br/> +Of all thy savings mistress, and of thee;<br/> +Now will the lads, rememb’ring insults past,<br/> +Cry, “What, the wise one in the trap at last!”<br/> + Fie! Nathan! fie! to let an artful jade<br/> +The close recesses of thine heart invade;<br/> +What grievous pangs! what suffering she’ll impart!<br/> +And fill with anguish that rebellious heart;<br/> +For thou wilt strive incessantly, in vain,<br/> +By threatening speech thy freedom to regain:<br/> +But she for conquest married, nor will prove<br/> +A dupe to thee, thine anger or thy love;<br/> +Clamorous her tongue will be: - of either sex,<br/> +She’ll gather friends around thee and perplex<br/> +Thy doubtful soul; - thy money she will waste<br/> +In the vain ramblings of a vulgar taste;<br/> +And will be happy to exert her power,<br/> +In every eye, in thine, at every hour.<br/> + Then wilt thou bluster - “No! I will not rest,<br/> +And see consumed each shilling of my chest:”<br/> +Thou wilt be valiant - “When thy cousins call,<br/> +I will abuse and shut my door on all:”<br/> +Thou wilt be cruel! - “What the law allows,<br/> +That be thy portion, my ungrateful spouse!<br/> +Nor other shillings shalt thou then receive;<br/> +And when I die - What! may I this believe?<br/> +Are these true tender tears? and does my Kitty grieve?<br/> +Ah! crafty vixen, thine old man has fears;<br/> +But weep no more! I’m melted by thy tears;<br/> +Spare but my money; thou shalt rule ME still,<br/> +And see thy cousins: - there! I burn the will.”<br/> + Thus, with example sad, our year began,<br/> +A wanton vixen and a weary man;<br/> +But had this tale in other guise been told,<br/> +Young let the lover be, the lady old,<br/> +And that disparity of years shall prove<br/> +No bane of peace, although some bar to love:<br/> +’Tis not the worst, our nuptial ties among,<br/> +That joins the ancient bride and bridegroom young; -<br/> +Young wives, like changing winds, their power display<br/> +By shifting points and varying day by day;<br/> +Now zephyrs mild, now whirlwinds in their force,<br/> +They sometimes speed, but often thwart our course;<br/> +And much experienced should that pilot be,<br/> +Who sails with them on life’s tempestuous sea.<br/> +But like a trade-wind is the ancient dame,<br/> +Mild to your wish and every day the same;<br/> +Steady as time, no sudden squalls you fear,<br/> +But set full sail and with assurance steer;<br/> +Till every danger in your way be past,<br/> +And then she gently, mildly breathes her last;<br/> +Rich you arrive, in port awhile remain,<br/> +And for a second venture sail again.<br/> + For this, blithe Donald southward made his way,<br/> +And left the lasses on the banks of Tay;<br/> +Him to a neighbouring garden fortune sent,<br/> +Whom we beheld, aspiringly content:<br/> +Patient and mild he sought the dame to please,<br/> +Who ruled the kitchen and who bore the keys.<br/> +Fair Lucy first, the laundry’s grace and pride,<br/> +With smiles and gracious looks, her fortune tried;<br/> +But all in vain she praised his “pawky eyne,”<br/> +Where never fondness was for Lucy seen:<br/> +Him the mild Susan, boast of dairies, loved,<br/> +And found him civil, cautious, and unmoved:<br/> +From many a fragrant simple, Catherine’s skill<br/> +Drew oil and essence from the boiling still;<br/> +But not her warmth, nor all her winning ways,<br/> +From his cool phlegm could Donald’s spirit raise:<br/> +Of beauty heedless, with the merry mute,<br/> +To <i>Mistress Dobson</i> he preferr’d his suit;<br/> +There proved his service, there address’d his vows,<br/> +And saw her mistress, - friend, - protectress, - spouse;<br/> +A butler now, he thanks his powerful bride,<br/> +And, like her keys, keeps constant at her side.<br/> + Next at our altar stood a luckless pair,<br/> +Brought by strong passions and a warrant there;<br/> +By long rent cloak, hung loosely, strove the bride,<br/> +From every eye, what all perceived, to hide,<br/> +While the boy-bridegroom, shuffling in his pace,<br/> +Now hid awhile and then exposed his face;<br/> +As shame alternately with anger strove,<br/> +The brain confused with muddy ale, to move<br/> +In haste and stammering he perform’d his part,<br/> +And look’d the rage that rankled in his heart;<br/> +(So will each lover inly curse his fate,<br/> +Too soon made happy and made wise too late:)<br/> +I saw his features take a savage gloom,<br/> +And deeply threaten for the days to come.<br/> +Low spake the lass, and lisp’d and minced the while,<br/> +Look’d on the lad, and faintly tried to smile;<br/> +With soften’d speech and humbled tone she strove<br/> +To stir the embers of departed love:<br/> +While he, a tyrant, frowning walk’d before,<br/> +Felt the poor purse, and sought the public door,<br/> +She sadly following, in submission went,<br/> +And saw the final shilling foully spent;<br/> +Then to her father’s hut the pair withdrew,<br/> +And bade to love and comfort long adieu!<br/> + Ah! fly temptation, youth, refrain! refrain!<br/> +I preach for ever; but I preach in vain!<br/> + Two summers since, I saw at Lammas Fair<br/> +The sweetest flower that ever blossom’d there,<br/> +When <i>Phœbe Dawson</i> gaily cross’d the Green,<br/> +In haste to see, and happy to be seen:<br/> +Her air, her manners, all who saw admired;<br/> +Courteous though coy, and gentle though retired;<br/> +The joy of youth and health her eyes display’d,<br/> +And ease of heart her every look convey’d;<br/> +A native skill her simple robes express’d,<br/> +As with untutor’d elegance she dress’d;<br/> +The lads around admired so fair a sight,<br/> +And Phœbe felt, and felt she gave, delight.<br/> +Admirers soon of every age she gain’d,<br/> +Her beauty won them and her worth retain’d;<br/> +Envy itself could no contempt display,<br/> +They wish’d her well, whom yet they wish’d away.<br/> +Correct in thought, she judged a servant’s place<br/> +Preserved a rustic beauty from disgrace;<br/> +But yet on Sunday-eve, in freedom’s hour,<br/> +With secret joy she felt that beauty’s power,<br/> +When some proud bliss upon the heart would steal,<br/> +That, poor or rich, a beauty still must feel.<br/> + At length the youth ordain’d to move her breast,<br/> +Before the swains with bolder spirit press’d;<br/> +With looks less timid made his passion known,<br/> +And pleased by manners most unlike her own;<br/> +Loud though in love, and confident though young;<br/> +Fierce in his air, and voluble of tongue;<br/> +By trade a tailor, though, in scorn of trade,<br/> +He served the ’Squire, and brush’d the coat he made.<br/> +Yet now, would Phœbe her consent afford,<br/> +Her slave alone, again he’d mount the board;<br/> +With her should years of growing love be spent,<br/> +And growing wealth; - she sigh’d and look’d consent.<br/> + Now, through the lane, up hill, and ’cross the +green:<br/> +(Seen by but few, and blushing to be seen -<br/> +Dejected, thoughtful, anxious, and afraid,)<br/> +Led by the lover, walk’d the silent maid;<br/> +Slow through the meadows roved they, many a mile,<br/> +Toy’d by each bank, and trifled at each stile;<br/> +Where, as he painted every blissful view,<br/> +And highly colour’d what he strongly drew,<br/> +The pensive damsel, prone to tender fears,<br/> +Dimm’d the false prospect with prophetic tears.-<br/> +Thus pass’d th’ allotted hours, till lingering late,<br/> +The lover loiter’d at the master’s gate;<br/> +There he pronounced adieu! and yet would stay,<br/> +Till chidden - soothed - entreated - forced away;<br/> +He would of coldness, though indulged, complain,<br/> +And oft retire, and oft return again;<br/> +When, if his teasing vex’d her gentle mind,<br/> +The grief assumed compell’d her to be kind!<br/> +For he would proof of plighted kindness crave,<br/> +That she resented first, and then forgave;<br/> +And to his grief and penance yielded more<br/> +Than his presumption had required before.<br/> + Ah! fly temptation, youth; refrain! refrain!<br/> +Each yielding maid and each presuming swain!<br/> + Lo! now with red rent cloak and bonnet black,<br/> +And torn green gown loose hanging at her back,<br/> +One who an infant in her arms sustains,<br/> +And seems in patience striving with her pains;<br/> +Pinch’d are her looks, as one who pines for bread,<br/> +Whose cares are growing - and whose hopes are fled;<br/> +Pale her parch’d lips, her heavy eyes sunk low,<br/> +And tears unnoticed from their channels flow;<br/> +Serene her manner, till some sudden pain<br/> +Frets the meek soul, and then she’s calm again; -<br/> +Her broken pitcher to the pool she takes,<br/> +And every step with cautious terror makes;<br/> +For not alone that infant in her arms,<br/> +But nearer cause, her anxious soul alarms.<br/> +With water burthen’d, then she picks her way,<br/> +Slowly and cautious, in the clinging clay;<br/> +Till, in mid-green, she trusts a place unsound,<br/> +And deeply plunges in th’ adhesive ground;<br/> +Thence, but with pain, her slender foot she takes,<br/> +While hope the mind as strength the frame forsakes;<br/> +For when so full the cup of sorrow grows,<br/> +Add but a drop, it instantly o’erflows.<br/> +And now her path, but not her peace, she gains,<br/> +Safe from her task, but shivering with her pains;<br/> +Her home she reaches, open leaves the door,<br/> +And placing first her infant on the floor,<br/> +She bares her bosom to the wind, and sits,<br/> +And sobbing struggles with the rising fits:<br/> +In vain they come, she feels the inflating grief,<br/> +That shuts the swelling bosom from relief;<br/> +That speaks in feeble cries a soul distress’d,<br/> +Or the sad laugh that cannot be repress’d.<br/> +The neighbour-matron leaves her wheel and flies<br/> +With all the aid her poverty supplies;<br/> +Unfee’d, the calls of Nature she obeys,<br/> +Not led by profit, not allur’d by praise,<br/> +And waiting long, till these contentions cease,<br/> +She speaks of comfort, and departs in peace.<br/> + Friend of distress! the mourner feels thy aid;<br/> +She cannot pay thee, but thou wilt be paid.<br/> +But who this child of weakness, want, and care?<br/> +’Tis <i>Phœbe Dawson</i>, pride of Lammas Fair;<br/> +Who took her lover for his sparkling eyes,<br/> +Expressions warm, and love-inspiring lies:<br/> +Compassion first assail’d her gentle heart,<br/> +For all his suffering, all his bosom’s smart:<br/> +“And then his prayers! they would a savage move,<br/> +And win the coldest of the sex to love:” -<br/> +But ah! too soon his looks success declared,<br/> +Too late her loss the marriage-rite repair’d;<br/> +The faithless flatterer then his vows forgot,<br/> +A captious tyrant or a noisy sot:<br/> +If present, railing, till he saw her pain’d;<br/> +If absent, spending what their labours gain’d;<br/> +Till that fair form in want and sickness pined,<br/> +And hope and comfort fled that gentle mind.<br/> + Then fly temptation, youth; resist, refrain!<br/> +Nor let me preach for ever and in vain!<br/> + Next came a well-dress’d pair, who left their +coach,<br/> +And made, in long procession, slow approach;<br/> +For this gay bride had many a female friend,<br/> +And youths were there, this favour’d youth t’attend:<br/> +Silent, nor wanting due respect, the crowd<br/> +Stood humbly round, and gratulation bow’d;<br/> +But not that silent crowd, in wonder fix’d,<br/> +Not numerous friends, who praise and envy mix’d,<br/> +Nor nymphs attending near to swell the pride<br/> +Of one more fair, the ever-smiling bride;<br/> +Nor that gay bride, adorn’d with every grace,<br/> +Nor love nor joy triumphant in her face,<br/> +Could from the youth’s sad signs of sorrow chase:<br/> +Why didst thou grieve? wealth, pleasure, freedom thine;<br/> +Vex’d it thy soul, that freedom to resign?<br/> +Spake Scandal truth? “Thou didst not then intend<br/> +So soon to bring thy wooing to an end?”<br/> +Or, was it, as our prating rustics say,<br/> +To end as soon, but in a different way?<br/> +’Tis told thy Phillis is a skilful dame,<br/> +Who play’d uninjured with the dangerous flame;<br/> +That, while, like Lovelace, thou thy coat display’d,<br/> +And hid the snare for her affection laid,<br/> +Thee, with her net, she found the means to catch,<br/> +And at the amorous see-saw won the match:<br/> +Yet others tell, the Captain fix’d thy doubt;<br/> +He’d call thee brother, or he’d call thee out: -<br/> +But rest the motive - all retreat too late,<br/> +Joy like thy bride’s should on thy brow have sate;<br/> +The deed had then appear’d thine own intent,<br/> +A glorious day, by gracious fortune sent,<br/> +In each revolving year to be in triumph spent.<br/> +Then in few weeks that cloudy brow had been<br/> +Without a wonder or a whisper seen;<br/> +And none had been so weak as to inquire,<br/> +“Why pouts my Lady?” or “Why frowns the Squire?”<br/> + How fair these names, how much unlike they look<br/> +To all the blurr’d subscriptions in my book:<br/> +The bridegroom’s letters stand in row above,<br/> +Tapering yet stout, like pine-trees in his grove;<br/> +While free and fine the bride’s appear below,<br/> +As light and slender as her jasmines grow.<br/> +Mark now in what confusion stoop or stand<br/> +The crooked scrawls of many a clownish hand;<br/> +Now out, now in, they droop, they fall, they rise,<br/> +Like raw recruits drawn forth for exercise;<br/> +Ere yet reform’d and modelled by the drill,<br/> +The free-born legs stand striding as they will.<br/> + Much have I tried to guide the fist along,<br/> +But still the blunderers placed their blottings wrong:<br/> +Behold these marks uncouth! how strange that men<br/> +Who guide the plough should fail to guide the pen:<br/> +For half a mile the furrows even lie;<br/> +For half an inch the letters stand awry; -<br/> +Our peasants, strong and sturdy in the field,<br/> +Cannot these arms of idle students wield:<br/> +Like them, in feudal days, their valiant lords<br/> +Resign’d the pen and grasp’d their conqu’ring swords;<br/> +They to robed clerks and poor dependent men<br/> +Left the light duties of the peaceful pen;<br/> +Nor to their ladies wrote, but sought to prove,<br/> +By deeds of death, their hearts were fill’d with love.<br/> + But yet, small arts have charms for female eyes;<br/> +Our rustic nymphs the beau and scholar prize;<br/> +Unletter’d swains and ploughmen coarse they slight,<br/> +For those who dress, and amorous scrolls indite.<br/> + For <i>Lucy Collins</i> happier days had been,<br/> +Had Footman Daniel scorn’d his native green,<br/> +Or when he came an idle coxcomb down,<br/> +Had he his love reserved for lass in town;<br/> +To Stephen Hill she then had pledged her truth, -<br/> +A sturdy, sober, kind, unpolish’d youth:<br/> +But from the day, that fatal day she spied<br/> +The pride of Daniel, Daniel was her pride.<br/> +In all concerns was Stephen just and true;<br/> +But coarse his doublet was and patch’d in view,<br/> +And felt his stockings were, and blacker than his shoe;<br/> +While Daniel’s linen all was fine and fair, -<br/> +His master wore it, and he deign’d to wear:<br/> +(To wear his livery, some respect might prove;<br/> +To wear his linen, must be sign of love:)<br/> +Blue was his coat, unsoil’d by spot or stain;<br/> +His hose were silk, his shoes of Spanish grain;<br/> +A silver knot his breadth of shoulder bore;<br/> +A diamond buckle blazed his breast before -<br/> +Diamond he swore it was! and show’d it as he swore;<br/> +Rings on his fingers shone; his milk-white hand<br/> +Could pick-tooth case and box for snuff command:<br/> +And thus, with clouded cane, a fop complete,<br/> +He stalk’d, the jest and glory of the street,<br/> +Join’d with these powers, he could so sweetly sing,<br/> +Talk with such toss, and saunter with such swing;<br/> +Laugh with such glee, and trifle with such art,<br/> +That Lucy’s promise fail’d to shield her heart.<br/> + Stephen, meantime, to ease his amorous cares,<br/> +Fix’d his full mind upon his farm’s affairs;<br/> +Two pigs, a cow, and wethers half a score,<br/> +Increased his stock, and still he look’d for more.<br/> +He, for his acres few, so duly paid,<br/> +That yet more acres to his lot were laid:<br/> +Till our chaste nymphs no longer felt disdain,<br/> +And prudent matrons praised the frugal swain;<br/> +Who thriving well, through many a fruitful year,<br/> +Now clothed himself anew, and acted overseer.<br/> + Just then poor Lucy, from her friend in town<br/> +Fled in pure fear, and came a beggar down;<br/> +Trembling, at Stephen’s door she knocked for bread, -<br/> +Was chidden first, next pitied, and then fed;<br/> +Then sat at Stephen’s board, then shared in Stephen’s bed:<br/> +All hope of marriage lost in her disgrace,<br/> +He mourns a flame revived, and she a love of lace.<br/> + Now to be wed a well-match’d couple came;<br/> +Twice had old <i>Lodge</i> been tied, and twice the dame;<br/> +Tottering they came and toying, (odious scene!)<br/> +And fond and simple, as they’d always been.<br/> +Children from wedlock we by laws restrain;<br/> +Why not prevent them when they’re such again?<br/> +Why not forbid the doting souls to prove<br/> +Th’ indecent fondling of preposterous love?<br/> +In spite of prudence, uncontroll’d by shame,<br/> +The amorous senior woos the toothless dame,<br/> +Relating idly, at the closing eve,<br/> +The youthful follies he disdains to leave;<br/> +Till youthful follies wake a transient fire,<br/> +When arm in arm they totter and retire.<br/> + So a fond pair of solemn birds, all day<br/> +Blink in their seat and doze the hours away;<br/> +Then by the moon awaken’d, forth they move,<br/> +And fright the songsters with their cheerless love;<br/> +So two sear trees, dry, stunted, and unsound,<br/> +Each other catch, when dropping to the ground:<br/> +Entwine their withered arms ’gainst wind and weather,<br/> +And shake their leafless heads and drop together:<br/> +So two cold limbs, touch’d by Galvani’s wire,<br/> +Move with new life, and feel awaken’d fire;<br/> +Quivering awhile, their flaccid forms remain,<br/> +Then turn to cold torpidity again.<br/> + “But ever frowns your Hymen? man and maid,<br/> +Are all repenting, suffering, or betray’d?”<br/> +Forbid it, Love! we have our couples here<br/> +Who hail the day in each revolving year:<br/> +These are with us, as in the world around;<br/> +They are not frequent, but they may be found.<br/> + Our farmers too, what though they fail to prove,<br/> +In Hymen’s bonds, the tenderest slaves of love,<br/> +(Nor, like those pairs whom sentiment unites,<br/> +Feel they the fervour of the mind’s delights;)<br/> +Yet coarsely kind and comfortably gay,<br/> +They heap the board and hail the happy day:<br/> +And though the bride, now freed from school, admits,<br/> +Of pride implanted there, some transient fits;<br/> +Yet soon she casts her girlish flights aside,<br/> +And in substantial blessings rest her pride.<br/> +No more she moves in measured steps; no more<br/> +Runs, with bewilder’d ear, her music o’er;<br/> +No more recites her French the hinds among,<br/> +But chides her maidens in her mother-tongue;<br/> +Her tambour-frame she leaves and diet spare,<br/> +Plain work and plenty with her house to share;<br/> +Till, all her varnish lost in few short years,<br/> +In all her worth the farmer’s wife appears.<br/> + Yet not the ancient kind; nor she who gave<br/> +Her soul to gain - a mistress and a slave:<br/> +Who, not to sleep allow’d the needful time;<br/> +To whom repose was loss, and sport a crime;<br/> +Who, in her meanest room (and all were mean),<br/> +A noisy drudge, from morn till night was seen; -<br/> +But she, the daughter, boasts a decent room,<br/> +Adorned with carpet, formed in Wilton’s loom;<br/> +Fair prints along the paper’d wall are spread;<br/> +There, Werter sees the sportive children fed,<br/> +And Charlotte, here, bewails her lover dead.<br/> + ’Tis here, assembled, while in space apart<br/> +Their husbands, drinking, warm the opening heart,<br/> +Our neighbouring dames, on festal days, unite,<br/> +With tongues more fluent and with hearts as light;<br/> +Theirs is that art, which English wives alone<br/> +Profess - a boast and privilege their own;<br/> +An art it is where each at once attends<br/> +To all, and claims attention from her friends,<br/> +When they engage the tongue, the eye, the ear,<br/> +Reply when listening, and when speaking hear:<br/> +The ready converse knows no dull delays,<br/> +“But double are the pains, and double be the praise.”<br/> + Yet not to those alone who bear command<br/> +Heaven gives a heart to hail the marriage band;<br/> +Among their servants, we the pairs can show,<br/> +Who much to love and more to prudence owe:<br/> +<i>Reuben</i> and <i>Rachel</i>, though as fond as doves,<br/> +Were yet discreet and cautious in their loves;<br/> +Nor would attend to Cupid’s wild commands,<br/> +Till cool reflection bade them join their hands:<br/> +When both were poor, they thought it argued ill<br/> +Of hasty love to make them poorer still;<br/> +Year after year, with savings long laid by,<br/> +They bought the future dwelling’s full supply;<br/> +Her frugal fancy cull’d the smaller ware,<br/> +The weightier purchase ask’d her Reuben’s care;<br/> +Together then their last year’s gain they threw,<br/> +And lo! an auction’d bed, with curtains neat and new.<br/> + Thus both, as prudence counsell’d, wisely stay’d,<br/> +And cheerful then the calls of Love obeyed:<br/> +What if, when Rachel gave her hand, ’twas one<br/> +Embrown’d by Winter’s ice and Summer’s sun ?<br/> +What if, in Reuben’s hair the female eye<br/> +Usurping grey among the black could spy?<br/> +What if, in both, life’s bloomy flush was lost,<br/> +And their full autumn felt the mellowing frost?<br/> +Yet time, who blow’d the rose of youth away,<br/> +Had left the vigorous stem without decay;<br/> +Like those tall elms in Farmer Frankford’s ground,<br/> +They’ll grow no more, - but all their growth is sound;<br/> +By time confirm’d and rooted in the land,<br/> +The storms they’ve stood, still promise they shall stand.<br/> + These are the happier pairs, their life has rest,<br/> +Their hopes are strong, their humble portion blest.<br/> +While those more rash to hasty marriage led,<br/> +Lament th’ impatience which now stints their bread:<br/> +When such their union, years their cares increase,<br/> +Their love grows colder, and their pleasures cease;<br/> +In health just fed, in sickness just relieved;<br/> +By hardships harass’d and by children grieved;<br/> +In petty quarrels and in peevish strife<br/> +The once fond couple waste the spring of life;<br/> +But when to age mature those children grown,<br/> +Find hopes and homes and hardships of their own,<br/> +The harass’d couple feel their lingering woes<br/> +Receding slowly till they find repose.<br/> +Complaints and murmurs then are laid aside,<br/> +(By reason these subdued, and those by pride;)<br/> +And, taught by care, the patient man and wife<br/> +Agree to share the bitter-sweet of life;<br/> +(Life that has sorrow much and sorrow’s cure,<br/> +Where they who most enjoy shall much endure:)<br/> +Their rest, their labours, duties, sufferings, prayers,<br/> +Compose the soul, and fit it for its cares;<br/> +Their graves before them and their griefs behind,<br/> +Have each a med’cine for the rustic mind;<br/> +Nor has he care to whom his wealth shall go,<br/> +Or who shall labour with his spade and hoe;<br/> +But as he lends the strength that yet remains,<br/> +And some dead neighbour on his bier sustains,<br/> +(One with whom oft he whirl’d the bounding flail,<br/> +Toss’d the broad coit, or took the inspiring ale,)<br/> +“For me,” (he meditates,) “shall soon be done<br/> +This friendly duty, when my race be run;<br/> +’Twas first in trouble as in error pass’d,<br/> +Dark clouds and stormy cares whole years o’ercast,<br/> +But calm my setting day, and sunshine smiles at last:<br/> +My vices punish’d and my follies spent,<br/> +Not loth to die, but yet to-live content,<br/> +I rest:” - then casting on the grave his eye,<br/> +His friend compels a tear, and his own griefs a sigh.<br/> + Last on my list appears a match of love,<br/> +And one of virtue; - happy may it prove! -<br/> +Sir <i>Edward Archer</i> is an amorous knight,<br/> +And maidens chaste and lovely shun his sight;<br/> +His bailiff’s daughter suited much his taste,<br/> +For <i>Fanny Price</i> was lovely and was chaste;<br/> +To her the Knight with gentle looks drew near,<br/> +And timid voice assumed to banish fear: -<br/> +“Hope of my life, dear sovereign of my breast,<br/> +Which, since I knew thee, knows not joy nor rest;<br/> +Know, thou art all that my delighted eyes,<br/> +My fondest thoughts, my proudest wishes prize;<br/> +And is that bosom - (what on earth so fair!)<br/> +To cradle some coarse peasant’s sprawling heir,<br/> +To be that pillow which some surly swain<br/> +May treat with scorn and agonise with pain?<br/> +Art thou, sweet maid, a ploughman’s wants to share,<br/> +To dread his insult, to support his care;<br/> +To hear his follies, his contempt to prove,<br/> +And (oh! the torment!) to endure his love;<br/> +Till want and deep regret those charms destroy,<br/> +That time would spare, if time were pass’d in joy?<br/> +With him, in varied pains, from morn till night,<br/> +Your hours shall pass; yourself a ruffian’s right;<br/> +Your softest bed shall be the knotted wool;<br/> +Your purest drink the waters of the pool;<br/> +Your sweetest food will but your life sustain,<br/> +And your best pleasure be a rest from pain;<br/> +While, through each year, as health and strength abate,<br/> +You’ll weep your woes and wonder at your fate;<br/> +And cry, ‘Behold,’ as life’s last cares come on,<br/> +‘My burthens growing when my strength is gone.’<br/> + “Now turn with me, and all the young desire,<br/> +That taste can form, that fancy can require;<br/> +All that excites enjoyment, or procures<br/> +Wealth, health, respect, delight, and love, are yours:<br/> +Sparkling, in cups of gold, your wines shall flow,<br/> +Grace that fair hand, in that dear bosom glow;<br/> +Fruits of each clime, and flowers, through all the year<br/> +Shall on your walls and in your walks appear:<br/> +Where all beholding, shall your praise repeat,<br/> +No fruit so tempting and no flower so sweet:<br/> +The softest carpets in your rooms shall lie,<br/> +Pictures of happiest love shall meet your eye,<br/> +And tallest mirrors, reaching to the floor,<br/> +Shall show you all the object I adore;<br/> +Who, by the hands of wealth and fashion dress’d,<br/> +By slaves attended and by friends caress’d,<br/> +Shall move, a wonder, through the public ways,<br/> +And hear the whispers of adoring praise.<br/> +Your female friends, though gayest of the gay,<br/> +Shall see you happy, and shall, sighing, say,<br/> +While smother’d envy rises in the breast, -<br/> +‘Oh! that we lived so beauteous and so blest!’<br/> + “Come, then, my mistress, and my wife; for she<br/> +Who trusts my honour is the wife for me;<br/> +Your slave, your husband, and your friend employ<br/> +In search of pleasures we may both enjoy.”<br/> + To this the Damsel, meekly firm, replied:<br/> +“My mother loved, was married, toil’d, and died;<br/> +With joys she’d griefs, had troubles in her course,<br/> +But not one grief was pointed by remorse:<br/> +My mind is fix’d, to Heaven I resign,<br/> +And be her love, her life, her comforts mine.”<br/> + Tyrants have wept; and those with hearts of steel,<br/> +Unused the anguish of the heart to heal,<br/> +Have yet the transient power of virtue known,<br/> +And felt th’ imparted joy promote their own.<br/> + Our Knight relenting, now befriends a youth,<br/> +Who to the yielding maid had vow’d his truth;<br/> +And finds in that fair deed a sacred joy,<br/> +That will not perish, and that cannot cloy; -<br/> +A living joy, that shall its spirits keep,<br/> +When every beauty fades, and all the passions sleep.<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +PART III.<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +Qui vultus Acherontis atri,<br/> +Qui Stygia tristem, non tristis, videt,<br/> +. . . . . . . . . . . .<br/> +Par ille Regi, par Superis erit.<br/> + SENECA, +Agamemnon.<br/> +<br/> +BURIALS.<br/> +<br/> +True Christian Resignation not frequently to be seen - The Register +a melancholy Record - A dying Man, who at length sends for a Priest: +for what Purpose? answered - Old Collet of the Inn, an Instance of Dr +Young’s slow-sudden Death: his Character and Conduct - The Manners +and Management of the Widow Goe: her successful Attention to Business: +her Decease unexpected - the Infant Boy of Gerard Ablett dies: Reflections +on his Death, and the Survivor his Sister-Twin - The Funeral of the +deceased Lady of the Manor described: her neglected Mansion: Undertaker +and Train: the Character which her Monument will hereafter display - +Burial of an Ancient Maiden: some former drawback on her Virgin Fame: +Description of her 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 Derangement +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 - Wife of Farmer Frankford dies in Prime of Life: Affliction +in Consequence<br/> +of such Death: melancholy View of Her House &c. on her Family’s +Return from her Funeral: Address to Sorrow - Leah Cousins, a Midwife: +her Character, and successful Practice: at length opposed by Dr. Glibb: +Opposition in the Parish: Argument of 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 Consequence - The Register +terminates - A Bell heard: Inquiry for whom? - The Sexton - Character +of old Dibble, and the five Rectors whom he served - Reflections - Conclusion.<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +THERE was, ’tis said, and I believe, a time<br/> +When humble Christians died with views sublime;<br/> +When all were ready for their faith to bleed,<br/> +But few to write or wrangle for their creed;<br/> +When lively Faith upheld the sinking heart,<br/> +And friends, assured to meet, prepared to part;<br/> +When Love felt hope, when Sorrow grew serene,<br/> +And all was comfort in the death-bed scene.<br/> + Alas! when now the gloomy king they wait,<br/> +’Tis weakness yielding to resistless fate;<br/> +Like wretched men upon the ocean cast,<br/> +They labour hard and struggle to the last;<br/> +“Hope against hope,” and wildly gaze around<br/> +In search of help that never shall be found:<br/> +Nor, till the last strong billow stops the breath,<br/> +Will they believe them in the jaws of Death!<br/> + When these my Records I reflecting read,<br/> +And find what ills these numerous births succeed;<br/> +What powerful griefs these nuptial ties attend;<br/> +With what regret these painful journeys end;<br/> +When from the cradle to the grave I look,<br/> +Mine I conceive a melancholy book.<br/> + Where now is perfect resignation seen?<br/> +Alas! it is not on the village-green: -<br/> +I’ve seldom known, though I have often read,<br/> +Of happy peasants on their dying-bed;<br/> +Whose looks proclaimed that sunshine of the breast,<br/> +That more than hope, that Heaven itself express’d.<br/> + What I behold are feverish fits of strife,<br/> +’Twixt fears of dying and desire of life:<br/> +Those earthly hopes, that to the last endure;<br/> +Those fears, that hopes superior fail to cure;<br/> +At best a sad submission to the doom,<br/> +Which, turning from the danger, lets it come.<br/> + Sick lies the man, bewilder’d, lost, afraid,<br/> +His spirits vanquish’d, and his strength decay’d;<br/> +No hope the friend, the nurse, the doctor lend -<br/> +“Call then a priest, and fit him for his end.”<br/> +A priest is call’d; ’tis now, alas! too late,<br/> +Death enters with him at the cottage-gate;<br/> +Or time allow’d - he goes, assured to find<br/> +The self-commending, all-confiding mind;<br/> +And sighs to hear, what we may justly call<br/> +Death’s common-place, the train of thought in all.<br/> + “True I’m a sinner,” feebly he begins,<br/> +“But trust in Mercy to forgive my sins:”<br/> +(Such cool confession no past crimes excite!<br/> +Such claim on Mercy seems the sinner’s right!)<br/> +“I know mankind are frail, that God is just,<br/> +And pardons those who in his Mercy trust;<br/> +We’re sorely tempted in a world like this -<br/> +All men have done, and I like all, amiss;<br/> +But now, if spared, it is my full intent<br/> +On all the past to ponder and repent:<br/> +Wrongs against me I pardon great and small,<br/> +And if I die, I die in peace with all.”<br/> + His merits thus and not his sins confess’d,<br/> +He speaks his hopes, and leaves to Heaven the rest.<br/> +Alas! are these the prospects, dull and cold,<br/> +That dying Christians to their priests unfold?<br/> +Or mends the prospect when th’ enthusiast cries,<br/> +“I die assured!” and in a rapture dies?<br/> + Ah, where that humble, self-abasing mind,<br/> +With that confiding spirit, shall we find;<br/> +The mind that, feeling what repentance brings,<br/> +Dejection’s terrors and Contrition’s stings,<br/> +Feels then the hope that mounts all care above,<br/> +And the pure joy that flows from pardoning love?<br/> +Such have I seen in Death, and much deplore,<br/> +So many dying - that I see no more:<br/> +Lo! now my Records, where I grieve to trace<br/> +How Death has triumph’d in so short a space;<br/> +Who are the dead, how died they, I relate,<br/> +And snatch some portion of their acts from fate.<br/> +With <i>Andrew Collett</i> we the year begin,<br/> +The blind, fat landlord of the Old Crown Inn, -<br/> +Big as his butt, and, for the selfsame use,<br/> +To take in stores of strong fermenting juice.<br/> +On his huge chair beside the fire he sate,<br/> +In revel chief, and umpire in debate;<br/> +Each night his string of vulgar tales he told,<br/> +When ale was cheap and bachelors were bold:<br/> +His heroes all were famous in their days,<br/> +Cheats were his boast, and drunkards had his praise;<br/> +“One, in three draughts, three mugs of ale took down,<br/> +As mugs were then - the champion of the Crown;<br/> +For thrice three days another lived on ale,<br/> +And knew no change but that of mild and stale;<br/> +Two thirsty soakers watch’d a vessel’s side,<br/> +When he the tap, with dext’rous hand, applied;<br/> +Nor from their seats departed, till they found<br/> +That butt was out and heard the mournful sound.”<br/> + He praised a poacher, precious child of fun!<br/> +Who shot the keeper with his own spring gun;<br/> +Nor less the smuggler who th’ exciseman tied,<br/> +And left him hanging at the birch-wood side,<br/> +There to expire; - but one who saw him hang<br/> +Cut the good cord - a traitor of the gang.<br/> + His own exploits with boastful glee he told,<br/> +What ponds he emptied and what pikes he sold;<br/> +And how, when blest with sight alert and gay,<br/> +The night’s amusements kept him through the day.<br/> + He sang the praises of those times, when all<br/> +“For cards and dice, as for their drink, might call;<br/> +When justice wink’d on every jovial crew,<br/> +And ten-pins tumbled in the parson’s view.”<br/> + He told, when angry wives, provoked to rail,<br/> +Or drive a third-day drunkard from his ale,<br/> +What were his triumphs, and how great the skill<br/> +That won the vex’d virago to his will;<br/> +Who raving came; - then talked in milder strain, -<br/> +Then wept, then drank, and pledged her spouse again.<br/> + Such were his themes : how knaves o’er laws +prevail,<br/> +Or, when made captives, how they fly from jail;<br/> +The young how brave, how subtle were the old:<br/> +And oaths attested all that Folly told.<br/> + On death like his what name shall we bestow,<br/> +So very sudden! yet so very slow?<br/> +’Twas slow: - Disease, augmenting year by year,<br/> +Show’d the grim king by gradual steps brought near:<br/> +’Twas not less sudden; in the night he died,<br/> +He drank, he swore, he jested, and he lied;<br/> +Thus aiding folly with departing breath: -<br/> +“Beware, Lorenzo, the slow-sudden death.”<br/> + Next died the <i>Widow Goe</i>, an active dame,<br/> +Famed ten miles round, and worthy all her fame;<br/> +She lost her husband when their loves were young,<br/> +But kept her farm, her credit, and her tongue:<br/> +Full thirty years she ruled, with matchless skill,<br/> +With guiding judgment and resistless will;<br/> +Advice she scorn’d, rebellions she suppress’d,<br/> +And sons and servants bow’d at her behest.<br/> +Like that great man’s, who to his Saviour came,<br/> +Were the strong words of this commanding dame; -<br/> +“Come,” if she said, they came; if “Go,” were +gone;<br/> +And if “Do this,” - that instant it was done:<br/> +Her maidens told she was all eye and ear,<br/> +In darkness saw and could at distance hear;<br/> +No parish-business in the place could stir,<br/> +Without direction or assent from her;<br/> +In turn she took each office as it fell,<br/> +Knew all their duties and discharged them well;<br/> +The lazy vagrants in her presence shook,<br/> +And pregnant damsels fear’d her stern rebuke;<br/> +She look’d on want with judgment clear and cool,<br/> +And felt with reason and bestow’d by rule;<br/> +She match’d both sons and daughters to her mind,<br/> +And lent them eyes, for Love, she heard, was blind;<br/> +Yet ceaseless still she throve, alert, alive,<br/> +The working bee, in full or empty hive;<br/> +Busy and careful, like that working bee,<br/> +No time for love nor tender cares had she;<br/> +But when our farmers made their amorous vows,<br/> +She talk’d of market-steeds and patent-ploughs.<br/> +Not unemploy’d her evenings pass’d away,<br/> +Amusement closed, as business waked the day;<br/> +When to her toilet’s brief concern she ran,<br/> +And conversation with her friends began,<br/> +Who all were welcome, what they saw, to share;<br/> +And joyous neighbours praised her Christmas fare,<br/> +That none around might, in their scorn, complain<br/> +Of Gossip Goe as greedy in her gain.<br/> + Thus long she reign’d, admired, if not approved;<br/> +Praised, if not honour’d; fear’d, if not beloved; -<br/> +When, as the busy days of Spring drew near,<br/> +That call’d for all the forecast of the year;<br/> +When lively hope the rising crops surveyed,<br/> +And April promised what September paid;<br/> +When stray’d her lambs where gorse and greenwood grow;<br/> +When rose her grass in richer vales below;<br/> +When pleased she look’d on all the smiling land,<br/> +And view’d the hinds, who wrought at her command;<br/> +(Poultry in groups still follow’d where she went;)<br/> +Then dread o’ercame her, - that her days were spent.<br/> + “Bless me! I die, and not a warning giv’n, +-<br/> +With <i>much</i> to do on Earth, and ALL for Heav’n? -<br/> +No reparation for my soul’s affairs,<br/> +No leave petition’d for the barn’s repairs;<br/> +Accounts perplex’d, my interest yet unpaid,<br/> +My mind unsettled, and my will unmade; -<br/> +A lawyer haste, and in your way, a priest;<br/> +And let me die in one good work at least.”<br/> +She spake, and, trembling, dropp’d upon her knees,<br/> +Heaven in her eye and in her hand her keys;<br/> +And still the more she found her life decay,<br/> +With greater force she grasp’d those signs of sway:<br/> +Then fell and died! - In haste her sons drew near,<br/> +And dropp’d, in haste, the tributary tear;<br/> +Then from th’ adhering clasp the keys unbound,<br/> +And consolation for their sorrows found.<br/> + Death has his infant-train; his bony arm<br/> +Strikes from the baby-cheek the rosy charm;<br/> +The brightest eye his glazing film makes dim,<br/> +And his cold touch sets fast the lithest limb:<br/> +He seized the sick’ning boy to <i>Gerard</i> lent,<br/> +When three days’ life, in feeble cries, were spent;<br/> +In pain brought forth, those painful hours to stay,<br/> +To breathe in pain and sigh its soul away!<br/> + “But why thus lent, if thus recall’d again,<br/> +To cause and feel, to live and die in pain?”<br/> +Or rather say, Why grevious these appear,<br/> +If all it pays for Heaven’s eternal year;<br/> +If these sad sobs and piteous sighs secure<br/> +Delights that live, when worlds no more endure?<br/> + The sister-spirit long may lodge below,<br/> +And pains from nature, pains from reason, know:<br/> +Through all the common ills of life may run,<br/> +By hope perverted and by love undone;<br/> +A wife’s distress, a mother’s pangs, may dread,<br/> +And widow-tears, in bitter anguish, shed;<br/> +May at old age arrive through numerous harms,<br/> +With children’s children in those feeble arms:<br/> +Nor till by years of want and grief oppress’d<br/> +Shall the sad spirit flee and be at rest!<br/> + Yet happier therefore shall we deem the boy,<br/> +Secured from anxious care and dangerous joy?<br/> + Not so! for then would Love Divine in vain<br/> +Send all the burthens weary men sustain;<br/> +All that now curb the passions when they rage,<br/> +The checks of youth and the regrets of age;<br/> +All that now bid us hope, believe, endure,<br/> +Our sorrow’s comfort and our vice’s cure;<br/> +All that for Heaven’s high joys the spirits train,<br/> +And charity, the crown of all, were vain.<br/> + Say, will you call the breathless infant blest,<br/> +Because no cares the silent grave molest?<br/> +So would you deem the nursling from the wing<br/> +Untimely thrust and never train’d to sing;<br/> +But far more blest the bird whose grateful voice<br/> +Sings its own joy and makes the woods rejoice,<br/> +Though, while untaught, ere yet he charm’d the ear,<br/> +Hard were his trials and his pains severe!<br/> + Next died the LADY who yon Hall possess’d,<br/> +And here they brought her noble bones to rest.<br/> +In Town she dwelt; - forsaken stood the Hall:<br/> +Worms ate the floors, the tap’stry fled the wall:<br/> +No fire the kitchen’s cheerless grate display’d;<br/> +No cheerful light the long-closed sash convey’d:<br/> +The crawling worm, that turns a summer fly,<br/> +Here spun his shroud and laid him up to die<br/> +The winter-death:- upon the bed of state,<br/> +The bat shrill shrieking woo’d his flickering mate;<br/> +To empty rooms the curious came no more;<br/> +From empty cellars turn’d the angry poor,<br/> +And surly beggars cursed the ever-bolted door.<br/> +To one small room the steward found his way<br/> +Where tenants follow’d to complain and pay;<br/> +Yet no complaint before the Lady came,<br/> +The feeling servant spared the feeble dame;<br/> +Who saw her farms with his observing eyes,<br/> +And answer’d all requests with his replies; -<br/> +She came not down, her falling groves to view;<br/> +Why should she know, what one so faithful knew?<br/> +Why come, from many clamorous tongues to hear,<br/> +What one so just might whisper in her ear?<br/> +Her oaks or acres, why with care explore;<br/> +Why learn the wants, the sufferings of the poor;<br/> +When one so knowing all their worth could trace,<br/> +And one so piteous govern’d in her place?<br/> + Lo! now, what dismal Sons of Darkness come,<br/> +To bear this Daughter of Indulgence home;<br/> +Tragedians all, and well-arranged in black!<br/> +Who nature, feeling, force, expression lack;<br/> +Who cause no tear, but gloomily pass by,<br/> +And shake their sables in the wearied eye,<br/> +That turns disgusted from the pompous scene,<br/> +Proud without grandeur, with profusion, mean<br/> +The tear for kindness past affection owes;<br/> +For worth deceased the sigh from reason flows<br/> +E’en well feign’d passion for our sorrows call,<br/> +And real tears for mimic miseries fall:<br/> +But this poor farce has neither truth nor art,<br/> +To please the fancy or to touch the heart;<br/> +Unlike the darkness of the sky, that pours<br/> +On the dry ground its fertilizing showers;<br/> +Unlike to that which strikes the soul with dread,<br/> +When thunders roar and forky fires are shed;<br/> +Dark but not awful, dismal but yet mean,<br/> +With anxious bustle moves the cumbrous scene;<br/> +Presents no objects tender or profound,<br/> +But spreads its cold unmeaning gloom around.<br/> + When woes are feign’d, how ill such forms appear,<br/> +And oh! how needless, when the woe’s sincere.<br/> + Slow to the vault they come, with heavy tread,<br/> +Bending beneath the Lady and her lead;<br/> +A case of elm surrounds that ponderous chest,<br/> +Close on that case the crimson velvet’s press’d;<br/> +Ungenerous this, that to the worm denies,<br/> +With niggard-caution, his appointed prize;<br/> +For now, ere yet he works his tedious way,<br/> +Through cloth and wood and metal to his prey,<br/> +That prey dissolving shall a mass remain,<br/> +That fancy loathes and worms themselves disdain.<br/> + But see! the master-mourner makes his way,<br/> +To end his office for the coffin’d clay;<br/> +Pleased that our rustic men and maids behold<br/> +His plate like silver, and his studs like gold,<br/> +As they approach to spell the age, the name,<br/> +And all the titles of the illustrious dame.-<br/> +This as (my duty done) some scholar read,<br/> +A Village-father look’d disdain and said:<br/> +“Away, my friends! why take such pains to know<br/> +What some brave marble soon in church shall show?<br/> +Where not alone her gracious name shall stand,<br/> +But how she lived - the blessing of the land;<br/> +How much we all deplored the noble dead,<br/> +What groans we utter’d and what tears we shed;<br/> +Tears, true as those which in the sleepy eyes<br/> +Of weeping cherubs on the stone shall rise;<br/> +Tears, true as those which, ere she found her grave,<br/> +The noble Lady to our sorrows gave.”<br/> + Down by the church-way walk, and where the brook<br/> +Winds round the chancel like a shepherd’s crook;<br/> +In that small house, with those green pales before,<br/> +Where jasmine trails on either side the door;<br/> +Where those dark shrubs, that now grow wild at will,<br/> +Were clipped in form and tantalised with skill;<br/> +Where cockles blanch’d and pebbles neatly spread,<br/> +Form’d shining borders for the larkspurs’ bed;<br/> +There lived a Lady, wise, austere, and nice,<br/> +Who show’d her virtue by her scorn of vice;<br/> +In the dear fashions of her youth she dress’d,<br/> +A pea-green Joseph was her favourite vest;<br/> +Erect she stood, she walk’d with stately mien,<br/> +Tight was her length of stays, and she was tall and lean.<br/> + There long she lived in maiden-state immured,<br/> +From looks of love and treacherous man secured;<br/> +Though evil fame - (but that was long before)<br/> +Had blown her dubious blast at <i>Catherine’s</i> door:<br/> +A Captain thither, rich from India came,<br/> +And though a cousin call’d, it touch’d her fame:<br/> +Her annual stipend rose from his behest,<br/> +And all the long-prized treasures she possess’d:-<br/> +If aught like joy awhile appear’d to stay<br/> +In that stern face, and chase those frowns away,<br/> +’Twas when her treasures she disposed for view<br/> +And heard the praises to their splendour due;<br/> +Silks beyond price, so rich, they’d stand alone,<br/> +And diamonds blazing on the buckled zone;<br/> +Rows of rare pearls by curious workmen set,<br/> +And bracelets fair in box of glossy jet;<br/> +Bright polish’d amber precious from its size,<br/> +Or forms the fairest fancy could devise:<br/> +Her drawers of cedar, shut with secret springs,<br/> +Conceal’d the watch of gold and rubied rings;<br/> +Letters, long proofs of love, and verses fine<br/> +Round the pink’d rims of crisped Valentine.<br/> +Her china-closet, cause of daily care,<br/> +For woman’s wonder held her pencill’d ware;<br/> +That pictured wealth of China and Japan,<br/> +Like its cold mistress, shunn’d the eye of man.<br/> + Her neat small room, adorn’d with maiden-taste,<br/> +A clipp’d French puppy, first of favourites, graced:<br/> +A parrot next, but dead and stuff’d with art;<br/> +(For Poll, when living, lost the Lady’s heart,<br/> +And then his life; for he was heard to speak<br/> +Such frightful words as tinged his Lady’s cheek:)<br/> +Unhappy bird! who had no power to prove,<br/> +Save by such speech, his gratitude and love.<br/> +A gray old cat his whiskers lick’d beside;<br/> +A type of sadness in the house of pride.<br/> +The polish’d surface of an India chest,<br/> +A glassy globe, in frame of ivory, press’d;<br/> +Where swam two finny creatures; one of gold,<br/> +Of silver one; both beauteous to behold:-<br/> +All these were form’d the guiding taste to suit;<br/> +The beast well-manner’d and the fishes mute.<br/> +A widow’d Aunt was there, compell’d by need<br/> +The nymph to flatter and her tribe to feed;<br/> +Who veiling well her scorn, endured the clog,<br/> +Mute as the fish and fawning as the dog.<br/> + As years increased, these treasures, her delight,<br/> +Arose in value in their owner’s sight:<br/> +A miser knows that, view it as he will,<br/> +A guinea kept is but a guinea still;<br/> +And so he puts it to its proper use,<br/> +That something more this guinea may produce;<br/> +But silks and rings, in the possessor’s eyes,<br/> +The oft’ner seen, the more in value rise,<br/> +And thus are wisely hoarded to bestow<br/> +The kind of pleasure that with years will grow.<br/> + But what avail’d their worth - if worth had +they -<br/> +In the sad summer of her slow decay?<br/> + Then we beheld her turn an anxious look<br/> +From trunks and chests, and fix it on her book, -<br/> +A rich-bound Book of Prayer the Captain gave,<br/> +(Some Princess had it, or was said to have;)<br/> +And then once more on all her stores look round,<br/> +And draw a sigh so piteous and profound,<br/> +That told, “Alas! how hard from these to part,<br/> +And for new hopes and habits form the heart!<br/> +What shall I do (she cried,) my peace of mind<br/> +To gain in dying, and to die resign’d?”<br/> +“Hear,” we return’d; - “these baubles cast aside,<br/> +Nor give thy God a rival in thy pride;<br/> +Thy closets shut, and ope thy kitchen’s door;<br/> +There own thy failings, here invite the poor;<br/> +A friend of Mammon let thy bounty make;<br/> +For widows’ prayers, thy vanities forsake;<br/> +And let the hungry of thy pride partake:<br/> +Then shall thy inward eye with joy survey<br/> +The angel Mercy tempering Death’s delay!”<br/> + Alas! ’twas hard; the treasures still had charms,<br/> +Hope still its flattery, sickness its alarms;<br/> +Still was the same unsettled, clouded view,<br/> +And the same plaintive cry, “What shall I do?”<br/> + Nor change appear’d; for when her race was run,<br/> +Doubtful we all exclaim’d, “What has been done?”<br/> +Apart she lived, and still she lies alone;<br/> +Yon earthy heap awaits the flattering stone<br/> +On which invention shall be long employ’d,<br/> +To show the various worth of <i>Catherine Lloyd</i>.<br/> + Next to these ladies, but in nought allied,<br/> +A noble Peasant, <i>Isaac Ashford</i>, died.<br/> +Noble he was, contemning all things mean,<br/> +His truth unquestion’d and his soul serene:<br/> +Of no man’s presence Isaac felt afraid;<br/> +At no man’s question Isaac looked dismay’d:<br/> +Shame knew him not, he dreaded no disgrace;<br/> +Truth, simple truth, was written in his face:<br/> +Yet while the serious thought his soul approved,<br/> +Cheerful he seem’d, and gentleness he loved;<br/> +To bliss domestic he his heart resign’d,<br/> +And with the firmest had the fondest mind;<br/> +Were others joyful, he look’d smiling on,<br/> +And gave allowance where he needed none;<br/> +Good he refused with future ill to buy,<br/> +Nor knew a joy that caused reflection’s sigh;<br/> +A friend to virtue, his unclouded breast<br/> +No envy stung, no jealousy distress’d;<br/> +(Bane of the poor! it wounds their weaker mind,<br/> +To miss one favour, which their neighbours find:)<br/> +Yet far was he from stoic pride removed;<br/> +He felt humanely, and he warmly loved:<br/> +I mark’d his action, when his infant died,<br/> +And his old neighbour for offence was tried;<br/> +The still tears, stealing down that furrow’d cheek,<br/> +Spoke pity, plainer than the tongue can speak.<br/> +If pride were his, ’twas not their vulgar pride,<br/> +Who, in their base contempt, the great deride;<br/> +Nor pride in learning, - though my Clerk agreed,<br/> +If fate should call him, Ashford might succeed;<br/> +Nor pride in rustic skill, although we knew<br/> +None his superior, and his equals few:-<br/> +But if that spirit in his soul had place,<br/> +It was the jealous pride that shuns disgrace;<br/> +A pride in honest fame, by virtue gain’d,<br/> +In sturdy boys to virtuous labours train’d;<br/> +Pride in the power that guards his country’s coast,<br/> +And all that Englishmen enjoy and boast;<br/> +Pride in a life that slander’s tongue defied, -<br/> +In fact a noble passion, misnamed Pride.<br/> + He had no party’s rage, no sect’ry’s +whim;<br/> +Christian and countrymen was all with him:<br/> +True to his church he came; no Sunday-shower<br/> +Kept him at home in that important hour;<br/> +Nor his firm feet could one persuading sect,<br/> +By the strong glare of their new light direct:-<br/> +“On hope, in mine own sober light, I gaze,<br/> +But should be blind, and lose it, in your blaze.”<br/> + In times severe, when many a sturdy swain<br/> +Felt it his pride, his comfort to complain;<br/> +Isaac their wants would soothe, his own would hide,<br/> +And feel in that his comfort and his pride.<br/> + At length he found when seventy years were run,<br/> +His strength departed, and his labour done;<br/> +When he, save honest fame, retain’d no more,<br/> +But lost his wife, and saw his children poor:<br/> +’Twas then a spark of - say not discontent -<br/> +Struck on his mind, and thus he gave it vent:-<br/> + “Kind are your laws (’tis not to be denied,)<br/> +That in yon House for ruin’d age provide,<br/> +And they are just; - when young we give you all,<br/> +And for assistance in our weakness call.-<br/> +Why then this proud reluctance to be fed,<br/> +To join your poor, and eat the parish bread?<br/> +But yet I linger, loth with him to feed,<br/> +Who gains his plenty by the sons of need;<br/> +He who, by contract, all your paupers took,<br/> +And gauges stomachs with an anxious look:<br/> +On some old master I could well depend;<br/> +See him with joy and thank him as a friend;<br/> +But ill on him who doles the day’s supply,<br/> +And counts our chances who at night may die:<br/> +Yet help me, Heav’n! and let me not complain<br/> +Of what I suffer, but my fate sustain.”<br/> + Such were his thoughts, and so resign’d he grew;<br/> +Daily he placed the Workhouse in his view!<br/> +But came not there, for sudden was his fate,<br/> +He dropp’d, expiring, at his cottage gate.<br/> + I feel his absence in the hours of prayer,<br/> +And view his seat, and sigh for Isaac there:<br/> +I see no more these white locks thinly spread<br/> +Round the bald polish of that honour’d head;<br/> +No more that awful glance on playful wight,<br/> +Compell’d to kneel and tremble at the sight,<br/> +To fold his fingers, all in dread the while,<br/> +Till Mister Ashford soften’d to a smile;<br/> +No more that meek and suppliant look in prayer,<br/> +Nor the pure faith (to give it force), are there: -<br/> +But he is blest, and I lament no more<br/> +A wise good man contented to be poor.<br/> + Then died a Rambler: not the one who sails,<br/> +And trucks, for female favours, beads and nails;<br/> +Not one who posts from place to place - of men<br/> +And manners treating with a flying pen;<br/> +Not he who climbs, for prospects, Snowdon’s height,<br/> +And chides the clouds that intercept the sight;<br/> +No curious shell, rare plant, or brilliant spar,<br/> +Enticed our traveller from his house so far;<br/> +But all the reason by himself assign’d<br/> +For so much rambling, was a restless mind;<br/> +As on, from place to place, without intent,<br/> +Without reflection, <i>Robin Dingley</i> went.<br/> + Not thus by nature:- never man was found<br/> +Less prone to wander from his parish bound:<br/> +Claudian’s Old Man, to whom all scenes were new,<br/> +Save those where he and where his apples grew,<br/> +Resembled Robin, who around would look,<br/> +And his horizon for the earth’s mistook.<br/> + To this poor swain a keen Attorney came; -<br/> +“I give thee joy, good fellow! on thy name;<br/> +The rich old Dingley’s dead; - no child has he,<br/> +Nor wife, nor will; his ALL is left for thee:<br/> +To be his fortune’s heir thy claim is good;<br/> +Thou hast the name, and we will prove the blood.”<br/> +The claim was made; ’twas tried, - it would not stand;<br/> +They proved the blood but were refused the land.<br/> +Assured of wealth, this man of simple heart<br/> +To every friend had predisposed a part;<br/> +His wife had hopes indulged of various kind;<br/> +The three Miss Dingleys had their school assign’d,<br/> +Masters were sought for what they each required,<br/> +And books were bought and harpsichords were hired;<br/> +So high was hope:- the failure touched his brain,<br/> +And Robin never was himself again;<br/> +Yet he no wrath, no angry wish express’d,<br/> +But tried, in vain, to labour or to rest;<br/> +Then cast his bundle on his back, and went<br/> +He knew not whither, nor for what intent.<br/> + Years fled; - of Robin all remembrance past,<br/> +When home he wandered in his rags at last:<br/> +A sailor’s jacket on his limbs was thrown,<br/> +A sailor’s story he had made his own;<br/> +Had suffer’d battles, prisons, tempests, storms,<br/> +Encountering death in all its ugliest forms:<br/> +His cheeks were haggard, hollow was his eye,<br/> +Where madness lurk’d, conceal’d in misery;<br/> +Want, and th’ ungentle world, had taught a part,<br/> +And prompted cunning to that simple heart:<br/> +“He now bethought him, he would roam no more<br/> +But live at home and labour as before.”<br/> + Here clothed and fed, no sooner he began<br/> +To round and redden, than away he ran;<br/> +His wife was dead, their children past his aid,<br/> +So, unmolested, from his home he stray’d:<br/> +Six years elapsed, when, worn with want and pain.<br/> +Came Robin, wrapt in all his rags again:<br/> +We chide, we pity; - placed among our poor,<br/> +He fed again, and was a man once more.<br/> + As when a gaunt and hungry fox is found,<br/> +Entrapp’d alive in some rich hunter’s ground;<br/> +Fed for the field, although each day’s a feast,<br/> +<i>Fatten</i> you may, but never <i>tame</i> the beast;<br/> +A house protects him, savoury viands sustain:-<br/> +But loose his neck and off he goes again:<br/> +So stole our Vagrant from his warm retreat,<br/> +To rove a prowler and be deemed a cheat.<br/> + Hard was his fare; for him at length we saw<br/> +In cart convey’d and laid supine on straw.<br/> +His feeble voice now spoke a sinking heart;<br/> +His groans now told the motions of the cart:<br/> +And when it stopp’d, he tried in vain to stand;<br/> +Closed was his eye, and clench’d his clammy hand:<br/> +Life ebb’d apace, and our best aid no more<br/> +Could his weak sense or dying heart restore:<br/> +But now he fell, a victim to the snare<br/> +That vile attorneys for the weak prepare;<br/> +They who when profit or resentment call,<br/> +Heed not the groaning victim they enthrall.<br/> + Then died lamented in the strength of life,<br/> +A valued <i>Mother</i> and a faithful <i>Wife</i>;<br/> +Call’d not away when time had loosed each hold<br/> +On the fond heart, and each desire grew cold;<br/> +But when, to all that knit us to our kind,<br/> +She felt fast-bound, as charity can bind; -<br/> +Not when the ills of age, its pain, its care,<br/> +The drooping spirit for its fate prepare;<br/> +And, each affection failing, leaves the heart<br/> +Loosed from life’s charm, and willing to depart;<br/> +But all her ties the strong invader broke,<br/> +In all their strength, by one tremendous stroke!<br/> +Sudden and swift the eager pest came on,<br/> +And terror grew, till every hope was gone;<br/> +Still those around appear’d for hope to seek!<br/> +But view’d the sick and were afraid to speak.<br/> + Slowly they bore, with solemn step, the dead;<br/> +When grief grew loud and bitter tears were shed,<br/> +My part began; a crowd drew near the place,<br/> +Awe in each eye, alarm in every face:<br/> +So swift the ill, and of so fierce a kind,<br/> +That fear with pity mingled in each mind;<br/> +Friends with the husband came their griefs to blend,<br/> +For good-man <i>Frankford</i> was to all a friend.<br/> +The last-born boy they held above the bier,<br/> +He knew not grief, but cries express’d his fear;<br/> +Each different age and sex reveal’d its pain,<br/> +In now a louder, now a lower strain;<br/> +While the meek father listening to their tones,<br/> +Swell’d the full cadence of the grief by groans.<br/> + The elder sister strove her pangs to hide,<br/> +And soothing words to younger minds applied’.<br/> +“Be still, be patient;” oft she strove to stay;<br/> +But fail’d as oft, and weeping turn’d away.<br/> + Curious and sad, upon the fresh-dug hill<br/> +The village lads stood melancholy still;<br/> +And idle children, wandering to and fro.<br/> +As Nature guided, took the tone of woe.<br/> + Arrived at home, how then they gazed around<br/> +On every place - where she no more was found; -<br/> +The seat at table she was wont to fill;<br/> +The fire-side chair, still set, but vacant still;<br/> +The garden-walks, a labour all her own;<br/> +The latticed bower, with trailing shrubs o’ergrown,<br/> +The Sunday-pew she fill’d with all her race, -<br/> +Each place of hers, was now a sacred place<br/> +That, while it call’d up sorrows in the eyes,<br/> +Pierced the full heart and forced them still to rise.<br/> + Oh sacred sorrow! by whom souls are tried,<br/> +Sent not to punish mortals, but to guide;<br/> +If thou art mine (and who shall proudly dare<br/> +To tell his Maker, he has had a share!)<br/> +Still let me feel for what thy pangs are sent,<br/> +And be my guide, and not my punishment!<br/> + Of <i>Leah Cousins</i> next the name appears,<br/> +With honours crown’d and blest with length of years,<br/> +Save that she lived to feel, in life’s decay,<br/> +The pleasure die, the honours drop away;<br/> +A matron she, whom every village-wife<br/> +View’d as the help and guardian of her life,<br/> +Fathers and sons, indebted to her aid,<br/> +Respect to her and her profession paid;<br/> +Who in the house of plenty largely fed,<br/> +Yet took her station at the pauper’s bed;<br/> +Nor from that duty could be bribed again,<br/> +While fear or danger urged her to remain:<br/> +In her experience all her friends relied.<br/> +Heaven was her help and nature was her guide.<br/> + Thus Leah lived; long trusted, much caress’d,<br/> +Till a Town-Dame a youthful farmer bless’d;<br/> +A gay vain bride, who would example give<br/> +To that poor village where she deign’d to live;<br/> +Some few months past, she sent, in hour of need,<br/> +For Doctor <i>Glibb</i>, who came with wond’rous speed,<br/> +Two days he waited, all his art applied,<br/> +To save the mother when her infant died: -<br/> +“’Twas well I came,” at last he deign’d to say;<br/> +“’Twas wondrous well;” - and proudly rode away.<br/> + The news ran round; - “How vast the Doctor’s +pow’r!”<br/> +He saved the Lady in the trying hour;<br/> +Saved her from death, when she was dead to hope,<br/> +And her fond husband had resign’d her up:<br/> +So all, like her, may evil fate defy,<br/> +If Doctor Glibb, with saving hand, be nigh.<br/> + Fame (now his friend), fear, novelty, and whim,<br/> +And fashion, sent the varying sex to him:<br/> +From this, contention in the village rose;<br/> +And these the Dame espoused; the Doctor those,<br/> +The wealthier part to him and science went;<br/> +With luck and her the poor remain’d content.<br/> + The Matron sigh’d; for she was vex’d at +heart,<br/> +With so much profit, so much fame, to part:<br/> +“So long successful in my art,” she cried,<br/> +“And this proud man, so young and so untried!”<br/> +“Nay,” said the Doctor, “dare you trust your wives,<br/> +The joy, the pride, the solace of your lives,<br/> +To one who acts and knows no reason why,<br/> +But trusts, poor hag! to luck for an ally? -<br/> +Who, on experience, can her claims advance,<br/> +And own the powers of accident and chance?<br/> +A whining dame, who prays in danger’s view,<br/> +(A proof she knows not what beside to do;)<br/> +What’s her experience? In the time that’s gone,<br/> +Blundering she wrought, and still she blunders on:-<br/> +And what is Nature? One who acts in aid<br/> +Of gossips half asleep and half afraid:<br/> +With such allies I scorn my fame to blend,<br/> +Skill is my luck and courage is my friend:<br/> +No slave to Nature, ’tis my chief delight<br/> +To win my way and act in her despite:-<br/> +Trust then my art, that, in itself complete,<br/> +Needs no assistance and fears no defeat.”<br/> + Warm’d by her well-spiced ale and aiding pipe,<br/> +The angry Matron grew for contest ripe.<br/> + “Can you,” she said, “ungrateful +and unjust,<br/> +Before experience, ostentation trust!<br/> +What is your hazard, foolish daughters, tell?<br/> +If safe, you’re certain; if secure, you’re well:<br/> +That I have luck must friend and foe confess,<br/> +And what’s good judgment but a lucky guess?<br/> +He boasts, but what he can do: - will you run<br/> +From me, your friend! who, all lie boasts, have done?<br/> +By proud and learned words his powers are known;<br/> +By healthy boys and handsome girls my own:<br/> +Wives! fathers! children! by my help you live;<br/> +Has this pale Doctor more than life to give?<br/> +No stunted cripple hops the village round;<br/> +Your hands are active and your heads are sound;<br/> +My lads are all your fields and flocks require;<br/> +My lasses all those sturdy lads admire.<br/> +Can this proud leech, with all his boasted skill,<br/> +Amend the soul or body, wit or will?<br/> +Does he for courts the sons of farmers frame,<br/> +Or make the daughter differ from the dame?<br/> +Or, whom he brings into this world of woe,<br/> +Prepares he them their part to undergo?<br/> +If not, this stranger from your doors repel,<br/> +And be content to <i>be</i> and to be <i>well</i>.”<br/> + She spake; but, ah! with words too strong and plain;<br/> +Her warmth offended, and her truth was vain:<br/> +The many left her, and the friendly few,<br/> +If never colder, yet they older grew;<br/> +Till, unemploy’d, she felt her spirits droop,<br/> +And took, insidious aid! th’ inspiring cup;<br/> +Grew poor and peevish as her powers decay’d,<br/> +And propp’d the tottering frame with stronger aid,<br/> +Then died! I saw our careful swains convey,<br/> +From this our changeful world, the Matron’s clay,<br/> +Who to this world, at least, with equal care,<br/> +Brought them its changes, good and ill, to share.<br/> + Now to his grave was <i>Roger Cuff</i> conveyed,<br/> +And strong resentment’s lingering spirit laid.<br/> +Shipwreck’d in youth, he home return’d, and found<br/> +His brethren three - and thrice they wish’d him drown’d.<br/> +“Is this a landsman’s love? Be certain then,<br/> +“We part for ever!” - and they cried, “Amen!”<br/> + His words were truth’s:- Some forty summers +fled,<br/> +His brethren died; his kin supposed him dead:<br/> +Three nephews these, one sprightly niece, and one,<br/> +Less near in blood - they call’d him <i>surly John</i>;<br/> +He work’d in woods apart from all his kind,<br/> +Fierce were his looks and moody was his mind.<br/> + For home the sailor now began to sigh:-<br/> +“The dogs are dead, and I’ll return and die;<br/> +When all I have, my gains, in years of care,<br/> +The younger Cuffs with kinder souls shall share -<br/> +Yet hold! I’m rich; - with one consent they’ll say,<br/> +‘You’re welcome, Uncle, as the flowers in May.’<br/> +No; I’ll disguise me, be in tatters dress’d,<br/> +And best befriend the lads who treat me best.”<br/> + Now all his kindred, - neither rich nor poor, -<br/> +Kept the wolf want some distance from the door.<br/> + In piteous plight he knock’d at George’s +gate,<br/> +And begg’d for aid, as he described his state:-<br/> +But stern was George; - “Let them who had thee strong,<br/> +Help thee to drag thy weaken’d frame along;<br/> +To us a stranger, while your limbs would move,<br/> +From us depart, and try a stranger’s love:-<br/> +“Ha! dost thou murmur?” - for, in Roger’s throat,<br/> +Was “Rascal!” rising with disdainful note.<br/> + To pious James he then his prayer address’d; +-<br/> +“Good-lack,” quoth James, “thy sorrows pierce my breast<br/> +And, had I wealth, as have my brethren twain,<br/> +One board should feed us and one roof contain:<br/> +But plead I will thy cause, and I will pray:<br/> +And so farewell! Heaven help thee on thy way!”<br/> +“Scoundrel!” said Roger (but apart); - and told<br/> +His case to Peter; - Peter too was cold;<br/> +“The rates are high; we have a-many poor;<br/> +But I will think,” - he said, and shut the door.<br/> + Then the gay niece the seeming pauper press’d; +-<br/> +“Turn, Nancy, turn, and view this form distress’d:<br/> +Akin to thine is this declining frame,<br/> +And this poor beggar claims an Uncle’s name.”<br/> + “Avaunt! begone!” the courteous maiden +said,<br/> +“Thou vile impostor! Uncle Roger’s dead:<br/> +I hate thee, beast; thy look my spirit shocks;<br/> +Oh! that I saw thee starving in the stocks!”<br/> + “My gentle niece!” he said - and sought +the wood,<br/> +“I hunger, fellow; prithee, give me food!”<br/> + “Give! am I rich? This hatchet take, and +try<br/> +Thy proper strength, nor give those limbs the lie;<br/> +Work, feed thyself, to thine own powers appeal,<br/> +Nor whine out woes thine own right-hand can heal;<br/> +And while that hand is thine, and thine a leg,<br/> +Scorn of the proud or of the base to beg.”<br/> + “Come, <i>surly John</i>, thy wealthy kinsman +view,”<br/> +Old Roger said; - “thy words are brave and true;<br/> +Come, live with me: we’ll vex those scoundrel-boys,<br/> +And that prim shrew shall, envying, hear our joys. -<br/> +Tobacco’s glorious fume all day we’ll share,<br/> +With beef and brandy kill all kinds of care;<br/> +We’ll beer and biscuit on our table heap,<br/> +And rail at rascals, till we fall asleep.”<br/> + Such was their life; but when the woodman died,<br/> +His grieving kin for Roger’s smiles applied -<br/> +In vain; he shut, with stern rebuke, the door,<br/> +And dying, built a refuge for the poor,<br/> +With this restriction, That no <i>Cuff</i> should share<br/> +One meal, or shelter for one moment there.<br/> + My Record ends:- But hark! e’en now I hear<br/> +The bell of death, and know not whose to fear:<br/> +Our farmers all, and all our hinds were well;<br/> +In no man’s cottage danger seem’d to dwell: -<br/> +Yet death of man proclaim these heavy chimes,<br/> +For thrice they sound, with pausing space, three times,<br/> + “Go; of my Sexton seek, Whose days are sped? +-<br/> +What! he, himself!- and is old <i>Dibble</i> dead?”<br/> +His eightieth year he reach’d, still undecay d,<br/> +And rectors five to one close vault convey’d:-<br/> +But he is gone; his care and skill I lose,<br/> +And gain a mournful subject for my Muse:<br/> +His masters lost, he’d oft in turn deplore,<br/> +And kindly add, - “Heaven grant, I lose no more!”<br/> +Yet, while he spake, a sly and pleasant glance<br/> +Appear’d at variance with his complaisance:<br/> +For, as he told their fate and varying worth,<br/> +He archly look’d, - “I yet may bear thee forth.”<br/> +“When first” - (he so began) - “my trade I plied,<br/> +Good master <i>Addle</i> was the parish-guide;<br/> +His clerk and sexton, I beheld with fear,<br/> +His stride majestic, and his frown severe;<br/> +A noble pillar of the church he stood,<br/> +Adorn’d with college-gown and parish hood:<br/> +Then as he paced the hallow’d aisles about,<br/> +He fill’d the seven-fold surplice fairly out!<br/> +But in his pulpit wearied down with prayer,<br/> +He sat and seem’d as in his study’s chair;<br/> +For while the anthem swell’d, and when it ceased,<br/> +Th’expecting people view’d their slumbering priest;<br/> +Who, dozing, died. - Our Parson <i>Peele</i> was next;<br/> +‘I will not spare you,’ was his favourite text;<br/> +Nor did he spare, but raised them many a pound;<br/> +E’en me he mulct for my poor rood of ground;<br/> +Yet cared he nought, but with a gibing speech,<br/> +‘What should I do,’ quoth he, ‘but what I preach?’<br/> +His piercing jokes (and he’d a plenteous store)<br/> +Were daily offer’d both to rich and poor;<br/> +His scorn, his love, in playful words he spoke;<br/> +His pity, praise, and promise, were a joke:<br/> +But though so young and blest with spirits high,<br/> +He died as grave as any judge could die:<br/> +The strong attack subdued his lively powers, -<br/> +His was the grave, and Doctor <i>Grandspear</i> ours.<br/> + “Then were there golden times the village round;<br/> +In his abundance all appear’d t’abound;<br/> +Liberal and rich, a plenteous board he spread,<br/> +E’en cool Dissenters at his table fed;<br/> +Who wish’d and hoped, - and thought a man so kind<br/> +A way to Heaven, though not their own, might find.<br/> +To them, to all, he was polite and free,<br/> +Kind to the poor, and, ah! most kind to me!<br/> +‘<i>Ralph</i>,’ would he say, ‘<i>Ralph Dibble</i>, +thou art old;<br/> +That doublet fit, ’twill keep thee from the cold:<br/> +How does my sexton?- What! the times are hard;<br/> +Drive that stout pig, and pen him in thy yard.’<br/> +But most, his rev’rence loved a mirthful jest:-<br/> +‘Thy coat is thin; why, man, thou’rt <i>barely</i> dress’d<br/> +It’s worn to th’ thread: but I have nappy beer;<br/> +Clap that within, and see how they will wear!’<br/> + “Gay days were these; but they were quickly +past:<br/> +When first he came, we found he couldn’t last:<br/> +A whoreson cough (and at the fall of leaf)<br/> +Upset him quite; - but what’s the gain of grief?<br/> + “Then came the <i>Author-Rector</i>: his delight<br/> +Was all in books; to read them or to write:<br/> +Women and men he strove alike to shun,<br/> +And hurried homeward when his tasks were done;<br/> +Courteous enough, but careless what he said,<br/> +For points of learning he reserved his head;<br/> +And when addressing either poor or rich,<br/> +He knew no better than his cassock which:<br/> +He, like an osier, was of pliant kind,<br/> +Erect by nature, but to bend inclined;<br/> +Not like a creeper falling to the ground,<br/> +Or meanly catching on the neighbours round:<br/> +Careless was he of surplice, hood, and band, -<br/> +And kindly took them as they came to hand,<br/> +Nor, like the doctor, wore a world of hat,<br/> +As if he sought for dignity in that:<br/> +He talk’d, he gave, but not with cautious rules;<br/> +Nor turn’d from gipsies, vagabonds, or fools;<br/> +It was his nature, but they thought it whim,<br/> +And so our beaux and beauties turn’d from him.<br/> +Of questions, much he wrote, profound and dark, -<br/> +How spake the serpent, and where stopp’d the ark;<br/> +From what far land the queen of Sheba came;<br/> +Who Salem’s Priest, and what his father’s name;<br/> +He made the Song of Songs its mysteries yield,<br/> +And Revelations to the world reveal’d.<br/> +He sleeps i’ the aisle, - but not a stone records<br/> +His name or fame, his actions or his words:<br/> +And truth, your reverence, when I look around,<br/> +And mark the tombs in our sepulchral ground<br/> +(Though dare I not of one man’s hope to doubt),<br/> +I’d join the party who repose without.<br/> + “Next came a Youth from Cambridge, and in truth<br/> +He was a sober and a comely youth;<br/> +He blush’d in meekness as a modest man,<br/> +And gain’d attention ere his task began;<br/> +When preaching, seldom ventured on reproof,<br/> +But touch’d his neighbours tenderly enough.<br/> +Him, in his youth, a clamorous sect assail’d,<br/> +Advised and censured, flatter’d, - and prevail’d.-<br/> +Then did he much his sober hearers vex,<br/> +Confound the simple, and the sad perplex;<br/> +To a new style his reverence rashly took;<br/> +Loud grew his voice, to threat’ning swell’d his look;<br/> +Above, below, on either side, he gazed,<br/> +Amazing all, and most himself amazed:<br/> +No more he read his preachments pure and plain,<br/> +But launch’d outright, and rose and sank again:<br/> +At times he smiled in scorn, at times he wept,<br/> +And such sad coil with words of vengeance kept,<br/> +That our blest sleepers started as they slept.<br/> + ‘Conviction comes like light’ning,’ +he would cry;<br/> +‘In vain you seek it, and in vain you fly;<br/> +’Tis like the rushing of the mighty wind,<br/> +Unseen its progress, but its power you find;<br/> +It strikes the child ere yet its reason wakes;<br/> +His reason fled, the ancient sire it shakes;<br/> +The proud, learn’d man, and him who loves to know<br/> +How and from whence those gusts of grace will blow,<br/> +It shuns, - but sinners in their way impedes,<br/> +And sots and harlots visits in their deeds:<br/> +Of faith and penance it supplies the place;<br/> +Assures the vilest that they live by grace,<br/> +And, without running, makes them win the race.’<br/> + “Such was the doctrine our young prophet taught;<br/> +And here conviction, there confusion wrought;<br/> +When his thin cheek assumed a deadly hue,<br/> +And all the rose to one small spot withdrew,<br/> +They call’d it hectic; ’twas a fiery flush,<br/> +More fix’d and deeper than the maiden blush;<br/> +His paler lips the pearly teeth disclosed,<br/> +And lab’ring lungs the length’ning speech opposed.<br/> +No more his span-girth shanks and quiv’ring thighs<br/> +Upheld a body of the smaller size;<br/> +But down he sank upon his dying bed,<br/> +And gloomy crotchets fill’d his wandering head.<br/> + ‘Spite of my faith, all-saving faith,’ +he cried,<br/> +‘I fear of worldly works the wicked pride;<br/> +Poor as I am, degraded, abject, blind,<br/> +The good I’ve wrought still rankles in my mind;<br/> +My alms-deeds all, and every deed I’ve done;<br/> +My moral-rags defile me every one;<br/> +It should not be:- what say’st thou! tell me, Ralph.’<br/> +Quoth I, ‘Your reverence, I believe, you’re safe;<br/> +Your faith’s your prop, nor have you pass’d such time<br/> +In life’s good-works as swell them to a crime.<br/> +If I of pardon for my sins were sure,<br/> +About my goodness I would rest secure.’<br/> + “Such was his end; and mine approaches fast;<br/> +I’ve seen my best of preachers, - and my last,” -<br/> + He bow’d, and archly smiled at what he said,<br/> +Civil but sly:- “And is old Dibble dead?”<br/> + Yes; he is gone: and WE are going all;<br/> +Like flowers we wither, and like leaves we fall; -<br/> +Here, with an infant, joyful sponsors come,<br/> +Then bear the new-made Christian to its home:<br/> +A few short years and we behold him stand<br/> +To ask a blessing, with his bride in hand:<br/> +A few, still seeming shorter, and we hear<br/> +His widow weeping at her husband’s bier:-<br/> +Thus, as the months succeed, shall infants take<br/> +Their names; thus parents shall the child forsake;<br/> +Thus brides again and bridegrooms blithe shall kneel,<br/> +By love or law compell’d their vows to seal,<br/> +Ere I again, or one like me, explore<br/> +These simple Annals of the VILLAGE POOR.<br/> +<br/> +1801.<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +<br/> +Footnotes:<br/> +<br/> +<a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a> Note: Indentation +and Punctuation as original.<br/> +<br/> +<a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2">{2}</a> Allusions +of this kind are to be found in the Fairy Queen. See the end of +the First Book, and other places. + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 5208 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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