All the comforts of life in a tavern are known,'Tis his home who possesses not one of his own;And to him who has rather too much of that one,'Tis the house of a friend where he's welcome to run:The instant you enter my door you're my lord,With whose taste and whose pleasure I'm proud to accord;And the louder you call and the longer you stay,The more I am happy to serve and obey.To the house of a friend if you're pleased to retire,You must all things admit, you must all things admire;You must pay with observance the price of your treat,You must eat what is praised, and must praise what you eat:But here you may come, and no tax we require,You may loudly condemn what you greatly admire;You may growl at our wishes and pains to excel,And may snarl at the rascals who please you so well.At your wish we attend, and confess that your speechOn the nation's affairs might the minister teach;His views you may blame, and his measures oppose,There's no tavern-treason—you're under the Rose:Should rebellions arise in your own little state,With me you may safely their consequence wait;To recruit your lost spirits 'tis prudent to come,And to fly to a friend when the devil's at home.That I've faults is confess'd; but it won't be denied,'Tis my interest the faults of my neighbours to hide;If I've sometimes lent Scandal occasion to prate,I've often conceal'd what she'd love to relate;If to Justice's bar some have wander'd from mine,'Twas because the dull rogues wouldn't stay by their wine;And for brawls at my house, well the poet explains,That men drinkshallow draughts, and so madden their brains.
All the comforts of life in a tavern are known,'Tis his home who possesses not one of his own;And to him who has rather too much of that one,'Tis the house of a friend where he's welcome to run:The instant you enter my door you're my lord,With whose taste and whose pleasure I'm proud to accord;And the louder you call and the longer you stay,The more I am happy to serve and obey.
All the comforts of life in a tavern are known,
'Tis his home who possesses not one of his own;
And to him who has rather too much of that one,
'Tis the house of a friend where he's welcome to run:
The instant you enter my door you're my lord,
With whose taste and whose pleasure I'm proud to accord;
And the louder you call and the longer you stay,
The more I am happy to serve and obey.
To the house of a friend if you're pleased to retire,You must all things admit, you must all things admire;You must pay with observance the price of your treat,You must eat what is praised, and must praise what you eat:But here you may come, and no tax we require,You may loudly condemn what you greatly admire;You may growl at our wishes and pains to excel,And may snarl at the rascals who please you so well.
To the house of a friend if you're pleased to retire,
You must all things admit, you must all things admire;
You must pay with observance the price of your treat,
You must eat what is praised, and must praise what you eat:
But here you may come, and no tax we require,
You may loudly condemn what you greatly admire;
You may growl at our wishes and pains to excel,
And may snarl at the rascals who please you so well.
At your wish we attend, and confess that your speechOn the nation's affairs might the minister teach;His views you may blame, and his measures oppose,There's no tavern-treason—you're under the Rose:Should rebellions arise in your own little state,With me you may safely their consequence wait;To recruit your lost spirits 'tis prudent to come,And to fly to a friend when the devil's at home.
At your wish we attend, and confess that your speech
On the nation's affairs might the minister teach;
His views you may blame, and his measures oppose,
There's no tavern-treason—you're under the Rose:
Should rebellions arise in your own little state,
With me you may safely their consequence wait;
To recruit your lost spirits 'tis prudent to come,
And to fly to a friend when the devil's at home.
That I've faults is confess'd; but it won't be denied,'Tis my interest the faults of my neighbours to hide;If I've sometimes lent Scandal occasion to prate,I've often conceal'd what she'd love to relate;If to Justice's bar some have wander'd from mine,'Twas because the dull rogues wouldn't stay by their wine;And for brawls at my house, well the poet explains,That men drinkshallow draughts, and so madden their brains.
That I've faults is confess'd; but it won't be denied,
'Tis my interest the faults of my neighbours to hide;
If I've sometimes lent Scandal occasion to prate,
I've often conceal'd what she'd love to relate;
If to Justice's bar some have wander'd from mine,
'Twas because the dull rogues wouldn't stay by their wine;
And for brawls at my house, well the poet explains,
That men drinkshallow draughts, and so madden their brains.
A difficult Subject for Poetry—Invocation of the Muse—Description of the principal Inn and those of the first Class—The large desertedTavern—Those of a second Order—Their Company—One of particular Description—A lower Kind of Public-Houses; yet distinguished among themselves—Houses on the Quays for Sailors—The Green-Man: its Landlord, and the Adventure of his Marriage, &c.
LETTER XI.
INNS.
Much do I need, and therefore will I ask,A Muse to aid me in my present task;For then with special cause we beg for aid,When of our subject we are most afraid:Inns are this subject—'tis an ill-drawn lot;So, thou who gravely triflest, fail me not.Fail not, but haste, and to my memory bringScenes yet unsung, which few would choose to sing:Thou mad'st a Shilling splendid; thou hast thrown10On humble themes the graces all thine own;By thee the Mistress of a village-schoolBecame a queen, enthroned upon her stool;And far beyond the rest thou gav'st to shineBelinda's Lock—that deathless work was thine.Come, lend thy cheerful light, and give to pleaseThese seats of revelry, these scenes of ease;Who sings of Inns much danger has to dread,And needs assistance from the fountain-head.High in the street, o'erlooking all the place,20The rampant Lion shows his kingly face;His ample jaws extend from side to side,His eyes are glaring, and his nostrils wide;In silver shag the sovereign form is dress'd;A mane horrific sweeps his ample chest;Elate with pride, he seems t' assert his reign,And stands, the glory of his wide domain.Yet nothing dreadful to his friends the sight,But sign and pledge of welcome and delight:To him the noblest guest the town detains30Flies for repast, and in his court remains;Him too the crowd with longing looks admire,Sigh for his joys, and modestly retire;Here not a comfort shall to them be lostWho never ask or never feel the cost.The ample yards on either side containBuildings where order and distinctionreign;—The splendid carriage of the wealthier guest,The ready chaise and driver smartly dress'd;Whiskeys and gigs and curricles are there,40And high-fed prancers, many a raw-boned pair.On all without a lordly host sustainsThe care of empire, and observant reigns;The parting guest beholds him at his side,With pomp obsequious, bending in his pride;Round all the place his eyes all objects meet,Attentive, silent, civil, and discreet.O'er all within the lady-hostess rules,Her bar she governs, and her kitchen schools;To every guest th' appropriate speech is made,50And every duty with distinction paid:Respectful, easy, pleasant, orpolite—"Your honour's servant—Mister Smith, good night."Next, but not near, yet honour'd through the town,There swing, incongruous pair! the Bear and Crown;That Crown suspended gems and ribands deck,A golden chain hangs o'er that furry neck.Unlike the nobler beast, the Bear is bound,And with the Crown so near him, scowls uncrown'd;Less his dominion, but alert are all60Without, within, and ready for the call;Smart lads and light run nimbly here and there,Nor for neglected duties mourns the Bear.To his retreats, on the election-day,The losing party found their silent way;There they partook of each consoling good,Like him uncrown'd, like him in sullenmood—Threat'ning, but bound.—Here meet a social kind,Our various clubs, for various cause combined;Nor has he pride, but thankful takes as gain70The dew-drops shaken from the Lion's mane:A thriving couple here their skill display,And share the profits of no vulgar sway.Third in our Borough's list appears the signOf a fair queen—the gracious Caroline;But in decay—each feature in the faceHas stain of Time, and token of disgrace.The storm of winter, and the summer-sun,Have on that form their equal mischief done;The features now are all disfigured seen,80And not one charm adorns th' insulted queen:To this poor face was never paint applied,Th' unseemly work of cruel Time to hide;Here we may rightly such neglect upbraid;Paint on such faces is by prudence laid.Large the domain, but all within combineTo correspond with the dishonour'd sign;And all around dilapidates; youcall—But none replies—they're inattentive all.At length a ruin'd stable holds your steed,90While you through large and dirty rooms proceed,Spacious and cold; a proof they once had beenIn honour—now magnificently mean;Till in some small half-furnish'd room you rest,Whose dying fire denotes it had a guest.In those you pass'd where former splendour reign'd,You saw the carpets torn, the paper stain'd;Squares of discordant glass in windows fix'd,And paper oil'd in many a space betwixt;A soil'd and broken sconce; a mirror crack'd,100With table underpropp'd, and chairs new-back'd;A marble side-slab with ten thousand stains,And all an ancient tavern's poor remains.With much entreaty, they your food prepare,And acid wine afford, with meagre fare;Heartless you sup; and when a dozen timesYou've read the fractured window's senseless rhymes;Have been assured that Phœbe Green was fair,And Peter Jackson took his supper there:You reach a chilling chamber, where you dread110Damps, hot or cold, from a tremendous bed;Late comes your sleep, and you are waken'd soonBy rustling tatters of the old festoon.O'er this large building, thus by time defaced,A servile couple has its owner placed,Who, not unmindful that its style is large,To lost magnificence adapt their charge.Thus an old beauty, who has long declined,Keeps former dues and dignity in mind;And wills that all attention should be paid120For graces vanish'd and for charms decay'd.Few years have pass'd, since brightly 'cross the wayLights from each window shot the lengthen'd ray,And busy looks in every face were seen,Through the warm precincts of the reigning Queen.There fires inviting blazed, and all aroundWas heard the tinkling bells' seducing sound;The nimble waiters to that sound from farSprang to the call, then hasten'd to the bar;Where a glad priestess of the temple sway'd,130The most obedient, and the most obey'd;Rosy and round, adorn'd in crimson vest,And flaming ribands at her ample breast,She, skill'd like Circe, tried her guests to moveWith looks of welcome and with words of love;And such her potent charms, that men unwiseWere soon transform'd and fitted for the sties.Her port in bottles stood, a well-stain'd row,Drawn for the evening from the pipe below;Three powerful spirits fill'd a parted case;140Some cordial-bottles stood in secret place;Fair acid fruits in nets above were seen;Her plate was splendid, and her glasses clean;Basins and bowls were ready on the stand,And measures clatter'd in her powerful hand.Inferior houses now our notice claim,But who shall deal them their appropriate fame?Who shall the nice, yet known distinction, tell,Between the peal complete and single bell?Determine, ye, who on your shining nags150Wear oil-skin beavers and bear seal-skin bags;Or ye, grave topers, who with coy delightSnugly enjoy the sweetness of the night;Ye travellers all, superior inns deniedBy moderate purse, the low by decent pride:Come and determine,—will ye take your placeAt thefullorb, orhalfthe lunar face?With the Black-Boy or Angel will ye dine?Will ye approve the Fountain or the Vine?Horses thewhiteorblackwill ye prefer?160The Silver-Swan, or swan opposed to her—Rare bird! whose form the raven-plumage decks,And graceful curve her three alluring necks?All these a decent entertainment give,And by their comforts comfortably live.Shall I pass by the Boar?—there are who cry,"Beware the Boar," and pass determined by:Those dreadful tusks, those little peering eyesAnd churning chaps, are tokens to the wise.There dwells a kind old aunt, and there you see170Some kind young nieces in her company—Poor village nieces, whom the tender dameInvites to town, and gives their beauty fame;The grateful sisters feel th' important aid,And the good aunt is flatter'd and repaid.What though it may some cool observers strike,That such fair sisters should be so unlike;That still another and another comes,And at the matron's table smiles and blooms;That all appear as if they meant to stay180Time undefined, nor name a parting day;And yet, though all are valued, all are dear,Causeless, they go, and seldom more appear:Yet—let Suspicion hide her odious head,And Scandal vengeance from a burgessdread—A pious friend, who with the ancient dameAt sober cribbage takes an evening game;His cup beside him, through their play he quaffs,And oft renews, and innocently laughs;Or, growing serious, to the text resorts,190And from the Sunday-sermon makes reports;While all, with grateful glee, his wish attend,A grave protector and a powerful friend.But Slander says, who indistinctly sees,Once he was caught with Silvia on hisknees—A cautious burgess with a careful wifeTo be so caught!—'tis false, upon my life.Next are a lower kind, yet not so lowBut they, among them, their distinctions know;And, when a thriving landlord aims so high200As to exchange the Chequer for the Pye,Or from Duke William to the Dog repairs,He takes a finer coat and fiercer airs.Pleased with his power, the poor man loves to sayWhat favourite inn shall share his evening's pay;Where he shall sit the social hour, and loseHis past day's labours and his next day's views.Our seamen too have choice: one takes a tripIn the warm cabin of his favourite ship;And on the morrow in the humbler boat210He rows, till fancy feels herself afloat;Can he the sign—Three Jolly Sailors pass,Who hears a fiddle and who sees a lass?The Anchor too affords the seaman joys,In small smoked room, all clamour, crowd, and noise;Where a curved settle half surrounds the fire,Where fifty voices purl and punch require.They come for pleasure in their leisure hour,And they enjoy it to their utmost power;Standing they drink, they swearing smoke, while all220Call or make ready for a second call:There is no time for trifling—"Do ye see?We drink and drub the French extempore."See! round the room, on every beam and balk,Are mingled scrolls of hieroglyphic chalk;Yet nothing heeded—would one stroke sufficeTo blot out all, here honour is toonice—"Let knavish landsmen think such dirty things,We're British tars, and British tars are kings."But the Green-Man shall I pass by unsung,230Which mine own James upon his sign-post hung?His sign, his image,—for he once was seenA squire's attendant, clad in keeper's green;Ere yet, with wages more, and honour less,He stood behind me in a graver dress.James in an evil hour went forth to wooYoung Juliet Hart, and was her Romeo:They'd seen the play, and thought it vastly sweetFor two young lovers by the moon to meet;The nymph was gentle, of her favours free,240Ev'n at a word—no Rosalind was she;Nor, like that other Juliet, tried his truthWith—"Be thy purpose marriage, gentle youth?"But him received, and heard his tender tale,When sang the lark, and when the nightingale:So in few months the generous lass was seenI' the way that all the Capulets had been.Then first repentance seized the amorous man,And—shame on love—he reason'd and he ran;The thoughtful Romeo trembled for his purse,250And the sad sounds, "for better and for worse."Yet could the lover not so far withdraw,But he was haunted both by love and law:Now law dismay'd him as he view'd its fangs,Now pity seized him for his Juliet's pangs;Then thoughts of justice and some dread of jail,Where all would blame him and where none might bail;These drew him back, till Juliet's hut appear'd,Where love had drawn him when he should have fear'd.There sat the father in his wicker throne,260Uttering his curses in tremendous tone;With foulest names his daughter he reviled,And look'd a very Herod at the child:Nor was she patient, but with equal scorn,Bade him remember when his Joe was born:Then rose the mother, eager to beginHer plea for frailty, when the swain came in.To him she turn'd, and other theme began,Show'd him his boy, and bade him be aman—"An honest man, who, when he breaks the laws,270Will make a woman honest if there's cause."With lengthened speech she proved what came to passWas no reflection on a loving lass:"If she your love as wife and mother claim,What can it matter which was first the name?But 'tis most base, 'tis perjury and theft,When a lost girl is like a widow left;The rogue who ruins"—here the father foundHis spouse was treading on forbidden ground."That's not the point," quoth he,—"I don't suppose280My good friend Fletcher to be one of those;What's done amiss he'll mend in propertime—I hate to hear of villany and crime.'Twas my misfortune, in the days of youth,To find two lasses pleading for my truth;The case was hard, I would with all my soulHave wedded both, but law is our control;So one I took, and when we gain'd a home,Her friend agreed—what could she more?—to come;And when she found that I'd a widow'd bed,290Me she desired—what could I less?—to wed.An easier case is yours: you've not the smartThat two fond pleaders cause in one man's heart;You've not to wait from year to year distress'd,Before your conscience can be laid at rest;There smiles your bride, there sprawls your new-born son,—A ring, a licence, and the thing is done.""My loving James,"—the lass began her plea,"I'll make thy reason take a part with me.Had I been froward, skittish, or unkind,300Or to thy person or thy passion blind;Had I refused, when 'twas thy part to pray,Or put thee off with promise and delay;Thou might'st in justice and in conscience fly,Denying her who taught thee to deny:But, James, with me thou hadst an easier task,Bonds and conditions I forbore to ask;"I laid no traps for thee, no plots or plans,Nor marriage named by licence or by banns;Nor would I now the parson's aid employ,310But for this cause"—and up she held her boy.Motives like these could heart of flesh resist?James took the infant and in triumph kiss'd;Then to his mother's arms the child restored,Made his proud speech, and pledged his worthy word."Three times at church our banns shall publish'd be,Thy health be drunk in bumpers three times three;And thou shalt grace (bedeck'd in garments gay)The christening-dinner on the wedding day."James at my door then made his parting bow,320Took the Green-Man, and is a master now.
Much do I need, and therefore will I ask,
A Muse to aid me in my present task;
For then with special cause we beg for aid,
When of our subject we are most afraid:
Inns are this subject—'tis an ill-drawn lot;
So, thou who gravely triflest, fail me not.
Fail not, but haste, and to my memory bring
Scenes yet unsung, which few would choose to sing:
Thou mad'st a Shilling splendid; thou hast thrown
10
On humble themes the graces all thine own;
By thee the Mistress of a village-school
Became a queen, enthroned upon her stool;
And far beyond the rest thou gav'st to shine
Belinda's Lock—that deathless work was thine.
Come, lend thy cheerful light, and give to please
These seats of revelry, these scenes of ease;
Who sings of Inns much danger has to dread,
And needs assistance from the fountain-head.
High in the street, o'erlooking all the place,
20
The rampant Lion shows his kingly face;
His ample jaws extend from side to side,
His eyes are glaring, and his nostrils wide;
In silver shag the sovereign form is dress'd;
A mane horrific sweeps his ample chest;
Elate with pride, he seems t' assert his reign,
And stands, the glory of his wide domain.
Yet nothing dreadful to his friends the sight,
But sign and pledge of welcome and delight:
To him the noblest guest the town detains
30
Flies for repast, and in his court remains;
Him too the crowd with longing looks admire,
Sigh for his joys, and modestly retire;
Here not a comfort shall to them be lost
Who never ask or never feel the cost.
The ample yards on either side contain
Buildings where order and distinctionreign;—
The splendid carriage of the wealthier guest,
The ready chaise and driver smartly dress'd;
Whiskeys and gigs and curricles are there,
40
And high-fed prancers, many a raw-boned pair.
On all without a lordly host sustains
The care of empire, and observant reigns;
The parting guest beholds him at his side,
With pomp obsequious, bending in his pride;
Round all the place his eyes all objects meet,
Attentive, silent, civil, and discreet.
O'er all within the lady-hostess rules,
Her bar she governs, and her kitchen schools;
To every guest th' appropriate speech is made,
50
And every duty with distinction paid:
Respectful, easy, pleasant, orpolite—
"Your honour's servant—Mister Smith, good night."
Next, but not near, yet honour'd through the town,
There swing, incongruous pair! the Bear and Crown;
That Crown suspended gems and ribands deck,
A golden chain hangs o'er that furry neck.
Unlike the nobler beast, the Bear is bound,
And with the Crown so near him, scowls uncrown'd;
Less his dominion, but alert are all
60
Without, within, and ready for the call;
Smart lads and light run nimbly here and there,
Nor for neglected duties mourns the Bear.
To his retreats, on the election-day,
The losing party found their silent way;
There they partook of each consoling good,
Like him uncrown'd, like him in sullenmood—
Threat'ning, but bound.—Here meet a social kind,
Our various clubs, for various cause combined;
Nor has he pride, but thankful takes as gain
70
The dew-drops shaken from the Lion's mane:
A thriving couple here their skill display,
And share the profits of no vulgar sway.
Third in our Borough's list appears the sign
Of a fair queen—the gracious Caroline;
But in decay—each feature in the face
Has stain of Time, and token of disgrace.
The storm of winter, and the summer-sun,
Have on that form their equal mischief done;
The features now are all disfigured seen,
80
And not one charm adorns th' insulted queen:
To this poor face was never paint applied,
Th' unseemly work of cruel Time to hide;
Here we may rightly such neglect upbraid;
Paint on such faces is by prudence laid.
Large the domain, but all within combine
To correspond with the dishonour'd sign;
And all around dilapidates; youcall—
But none replies—they're inattentive all.
At length a ruin'd stable holds your steed,
90
While you through large and dirty rooms proceed,
Spacious and cold; a proof they once had been
In honour—now magnificently mean;
Till in some small half-furnish'd room you rest,
Whose dying fire denotes it had a guest.
In those you pass'd where former splendour reign'd,
You saw the carpets torn, the paper stain'd;
Squares of discordant glass in windows fix'd,
And paper oil'd in many a space betwixt;
A soil'd and broken sconce; a mirror crack'd,
100
With table underpropp'd, and chairs new-back'd;
A marble side-slab with ten thousand stains,
And all an ancient tavern's poor remains.
With much entreaty, they your food prepare,
And acid wine afford, with meagre fare;
Heartless you sup; and when a dozen times
You've read the fractured window's senseless rhymes;
Have been assured that Phœbe Green was fair,
And Peter Jackson took his supper there:
You reach a chilling chamber, where you dread
110
Damps, hot or cold, from a tremendous bed;
Late comes your sleep, and you are waken'd soon
By rustling tatters of the old festoon.
O'er this large building, thus by time defaced,
A servile couple has its owner placed,
Who, not unmindful that its style is large,
To lost magnificence adapt their charge.
Thus an old beauty, who has long declined,
Keeps former dues and dignity in mind;
And wills that all attention should be paid
120
For graces vanish'd and for charms decay'd.
Few years have pass'd, since brightly 'cross the way
Lights from each window shot the lengthen'd ray,
And busy looks in every face were seen,
Through the warm precincts of the reigning Queen.
There fires inviting blazed, and all around
Was heard the tinkling bells' seducing sound;
The nimble waiters to that sound from far
Sprang to the call, then hasten'd to the bar;
Where a glad priestess of the temple sway'd,
130
The most obedient, and the most obey'd;
Rosy and round, adorn'd in crimson vest,
And flaming ribands at her ample breast,
She, skill'd like Circe, tried her guests to move
With looks of welcome and with words of love;
And such her potent charms, that men unwise
Were soon transform'd and fitted for the sties.
Her port in bottles stood, a well-stain'd row,
Drawn for the evening from the pipe below;
Three powerful spirits fill'd a parted case;
140
Some cordial-bottles stood in secret place;
Fair acid fruits in nets above were seen;
Her plate was splendid, and her glasses clean;
Basins and bowls were ready on the stand,
And measures clatter'd in her powerful hand.
Inferior houses now our notice claim,
But who shall deal them their appropriate fame?
Who shall the nice, yet known distinction, tell,
Between the peal complete and single bell?
Determine, ye, who on your shining nags
150
Wear oil-skin beavers and bear seal-skin bags;
Or ye, grave topers, who with coy delight
Snugly enjoy the sweetness of the night;
Ye travellers all, superior inns denied
By moderate purse, the low by decent pride:
Come and determine,—will ye take your place
At thefullorb, orhalfthe lunar face?
With the Black-Boy or Angel will ye dine?
Will ye approve the Fountain or the Vine?
Horses thewhiteorblackwill ye prefer?
160
The Silver-Swan, or swan opposed to her—
Rare bird! whose form the raven-plumage decks,
And graceful curve her three alluring necks?
All these a decent entertainment give,
And by their comforts comfortably live.
Shall I pass by the Boar?—there are who cry,
"Beware the Boar," and pass determined by:
Those dreadful tusks, those little peering eyes
And churning chaps, are tokens to the wise.
There dwells a kind old aunt, and there you see
170
Some kind young nieces in her company—
Poor village nieces, whom the tender dame
Invites to town, and gives their beauty fame;
The grateful sisters feel th' important aid,
And the good aunt is flatter'd and repaid.
What though it may some cool observers strike,
That such fair sisters should be so unlike;
That still another and another comes,
And at the matron's table smiles and blooms;
That all appear as if they meant to stay
180
Time undefined, nor name a parting day;
And yet, though all are valued, all are dear,
Causeless, they go, and seldom more appear:
Yet—let Suspicion hide her odious head,
And Scandal vengeance from a burgessdread—
A pious friend, who with the ancient dame
At sober cribbage takes an evening game;
His cup beside him, through their play he quaffs,
And oft renews, and innocently laughs;
Or, growing serious, to the text resorts,
190
And from the Sunday-sermon makes reports;
While all, with grateful glee, his wish attend,
A grave protector and a powerful friend.
But Slander says, who indistinctly sees,
Once he was caught with Silvia on hisknees—
A cautious burgess with a careful wife
To be so caught!—'tis false, upon my life.
Next are a lower kind, yet not so low
But they, among them, their distinctions know;
And, when a thriving landlord aims so high
200
As to exchange the Chequer for the Pye,
Or from Duke William to the Dog repairs,
He takes a finer coat and fiercer airs.
Pleased with his power, the poor man loves to say
What favourite inn shall share his evening's pay;
Where he shall sit the social hour, and lose
His past day's labours and his next day's views.
Our seamen too have choice: one takes a trip
In the warm cabin of his favourite ship;
And on the morrow in the humbler boat
210
He rows, till fancy feels herself afloat;
Can he the sign—Three Jolly Sailors pass,
Who hears a fiddle and who sees a lass?
The Anchor too affords the seaman joys,
In small smoked room, all clamour, crowd, and noise;
Where a curved settle half surrounds the fire,
Where fifty voices purl and punch require.
They come for pleasure in their leisure hour,
And they enjoy it to their utmost power;
Standing they drink, they swearing smoke, while all
220
Call or make ready for a second call:
There is no time for trifling—"Do ye see?
We drink and drub the French extempore."
See! round the room, on every beam and balk,
Are mingled scrolls of hieroglyphic chalk;
Yet nothing heeded—would one stroke suffice
To blot out all, here honour is toonice—
"Let knavish landsmen think such dirty things,
We're British tars, and British tars are kings."
But the Green-Man shall I pass by unsung,
230
Which mine own James upon his sign-post hung?
His sign, his image,—for he once was seen
A squire's attendant, clad in keeper's green;
Ere yet, with wages more, and honour less,
He stood behind me in a graver dress.
James in an evil hour went forth to woo
Young Juliet Hart, and was her Romeo:
They'd seen the play, and thought it vastly sweet
For two young lovers by the moon to meet;
The nymph was gentle, of her favours free,
240
Ev'n at a word—no Rosalind was she;
Nor, like that other Juliet, tried his truth
With—"Be thy purpose marriage, gentle youth?"
But him received, and heard his tender tale,
When sang the lark, and when the nightingale:
So in few months the generous lass was seen
I' the way that all the Capulets had been.
Then first repentance seized the amorous man,
And—shame on love—he reason'd and he ran;
The thoughtful Romeo trembled for his purse,
250
And the sad sounds, "for better and for worse."
Yet could the lover not so far withdraw,
But he was haunted both by love and law:
Now law dismay'd him as he view'd its fangs,
Now pity seized him for his Juliet's pangs;
Then thoughts of justice and some dread of jail,
Where all would blame him and where none might bail;
These drew him back, till Juliet's hut appear'd,
Where love had drawn him when he should have fear'd.
There sat the father in his wicker throne,
260
Uttering his curses in tremendous tone;
With foulest names his daughter he reviled,
And look'd a very Herod at the child:
Nor was she patient, but with equal scorn,
Bade him remember when his Joe was born:
Then rose the mother, eager to begin
Her plea for frailty, when the swain came in.
To him she turn'd, and other theme began,
Show'd him his boy, and bade him be aman—
"An honest man, who, when he breaks the laws,
270
Will make a woman honest if there's cause."
With lengthened speech she proved what came to pass
Was no reflection on a loving lass:
"If she your love as wife and mother claim,
What can it matter which was first the name?
But 'tis most base, 'tis perjury and theft,
When a lost girl is like a widow left;
The rogue who ruins"—here the father found
His spouse was treading on forbidden ground.
"That's not the point," quoth he,—"I don't suppose
280
My good friend Fletcher to be one of those;
What's done amiss he'll mend in propertime—
I hate to hear of villany and crime.
'Twas my misfortune, in the days of youth,
To find two lasses pleading for my truth;
The case was hard, I would with all my soul
Have wedded both, but law is our control;
So one I took, and when we gain'd a home,
Her friend agreed—what could she more?—to come;
And when she found that I'd a widow'd bed,
290
Me she desired—what could I less?—to wed.
An easier case is yours: you've not the smart
That two fond pleaders cause in one man's heart;
You've not to wait from year to year distress'd,
Before your conscience can be laid at rest;
There smiles your bride, there sprawls your new-born son,
—A ring, a licence, and the thing is done."
"My loving James,"—the lass began her plea,
"I'll make thy reason take a part with me.
Had I been froward, skittish, or unkind,
300
Or to thy person or thy passion blind;
Had I refused, when 'twas thy part to pray,
Or put thee off with promise and delay;
Thou might'st in justice and in conscience fly,
Denying her who taught thee to deny:
But, James, with me thou hadst an easier task,
Bonds and conditions I forbore to ask;
"I laid no traps for thee, no plots or plans,
Nor marriage named by licence or by banns;
Nor would I now the parson's aid employ,
310
But for this cause"—and up she held her boy.
Motives like these could heart of flesh resist?
James took the infant and in triumph kiss'd;
Then to his mother's arms the child restored,
Made his proud speech, and pledged his worthy word.
"Three times at church our banns shall publish'd be,
Thy health be drunk in bumpers three times three;
And thou shalt grace (bedeck'd in garments gay)
The christening-dinner on the wedding day."
James at my door then made his parting bow,
320
Took the Green-Man, and is a master now.
PLAYERS.
These are monarchs none respect;Heroes, yet an humbled crew;Nobles, whom the crowd correct;Wealthy men, whom duns pursue;Beauties, shrinking from the viewOf the day's detecting eye;Lovers, who with much adoLong-forsaken damsels woo,And heave the ill-feign'd sigh.These are misers, craving meansOf existence through the day;Famous scholars, conning scenesOf a dull bewildering play;Ragged beaux and misses grey,Whom the rabble praise and blame;Proud and mean, and sad and gay,Toiling after ease, are they,Infamous[63], and boasting fame.
These are monarchs none respect;Heroes, yet an humbled crew;Nobles, whom the crowd correct;Wealthy men, whom duns pursue;Beauties, shrinking from the viewOf the day's detecting eye;Lovers, who with much adoLong-forsaken damsels woo,And heave the ill-feign'd sigh.
These are monarchs none respect;
Heroes, yet an humbled crew;
Nobles, whom the crowd correct;
Wealthy men, whom duns pursue;
Beauties, shrinking from the view
Of the day's detecting eye;
Lovers, who with much ado
Long-forsaken damsels woo,
And heave the ill-feign'd sigh.
These are misers, craving meansOf existence through the day;Famous scholars, conning scenesOf a dull bewildering play;Ragged beaux and misses grey,Whom the rabble praise and blame;Proud and mean, and sad and gay,Toiling after ease, are they,Infamous[63], and boasting fame.
These are misers, craving means
Of existence through the day;
Famous scholars, conning scenes
Of a dull bewildering play;
Ragged beaux and misses grey,
Whom the rabble praise and blame;
Proud and mean, and sad and gay,
Toiling after ease, are they,
Infamous[63], and boasting fame.
Players arrive in the Borough—Welcomed by their former Friends—Are better fitted for Comic than Tragic Scenes: yet better approved in the latter by one Part of their Audience—Their general Character and Pleasantry—Particular Distresses and Labours—Their Fortitude and Patience—A private Rehearsal—The Vanity of the aged Actress—A Heroine from the Milliner's Shop—A deluded Tradesman—Of what Persons the Company is composed—Character and Adventures of Frederick Thompson.
LETTER XII.
PLAYERS.
}Drawn by the annual call, we now behold}Our troop dramatic, heroes known of old,}And those, since last they march'd, inlisted and enroll'd:Mounted on hacks or borne in waggons some,The rest on foot (the humbler brethren) come.Three favour'd places, an unequal time,Join to support this company sublime:}Ours for the longer period—see how light}Yon parties move, their former friends in sight,}10Whose claims are all allow'd, and friendship glads the night.Now public rooms shall sound with words divine,And private lodgings hear how heroes shine;No talk of pay shall yet on pleasure steal,But kindest welcome bless the friendly meal;While o'er the social jug and decent cheer,Shall be described the fortunes of the year.Peruse these bills, and see what each cando,—Behold! the prince, the slave, the monk, the Jew;Change but the garment, and they'll all engage20To take each part, and act in every age.Cull'd from all houses, what a house are they!Swept from all barns, our borough-critics say;But with some portion of a critic's ire,We all endure them; there are some admire:They might have praise, confined to farce alone;Full well they grin—they should not try to groan;But then our servants' and our seamen's wivesLove all that rant and rapture as their lives;He who 'Squire Richard's part could well sustain,30Finds as King Richard he must roar amain,"My horse! my horse!"—Lo! now to their abodes,Come lords and lovers, empresses and gods.The master-mover of these scenes has madeNo trifling gain in this adventuroustrade;—Trade we may term it, for he duly buysArms out of use and undirected eyes;These he instructs, and guides them as he can,And vends each night the manufactured man.Long as our custom lasts, they gladly stay,40Then strike their tents, like Tartars! and away!The place grows bare where they too long remain,But grass will rise ere they return again.Children of Thespis, welcome! knights and queens!Counts! barons! beauties! when before your scenes,And mighty monarchs thund'ring from your throne;Then step behind, and all your glory's gone:Of crown and palace, throne and guards bereft,The pomp is vanish'd, and the care is left.Yet strong and lively is the joy they feel,50When the full house secures the plenteous meal;Flatt'ring and flatter'd, each attempts to raiseA brother's merits for a brother's praise:For never hero shows a prouder heart,Than he who proudly acts a hero'spart—Nor without cause; the boards, we know, can yieldPlace for fierce contest, like the tented field.Graceful to tread the stage, to be in turnThe prince we honour, and the knave we spurn;Bravely to bear the tumult of the crowd,60The hiss tremendous, and the censure loud:These are their parts—and he who these sustainsDeserves some praise and profit for his pains.}Heroes at least of gentler kind are they,}Against whose swords no weeping widows pray,}No blood their fury sheds, nor havoc marks their way.Sad happy race! soon raised and soon depress'd;Your days all pass'd in jeopardy and jest;Poor without prudence, with afflictions vain,Not warn'd by misery, not enrich'd by gain;70Whom justice pitying, chides from place to place,A wandering, careless, wretched, merry race;Who cheerful looks assume, and play the partsOf happy rovers with repining hearts;Then cast off care, and in the mimic painOf tragic wo, feel spirits light and vain,Distress and hope—the mind's, the body's wear,The man's affliction, and the actor's tear:Alternate times of fasting and excessAre yours, ye smiling children of distress.}80Slaves though ye be, your wandering freedom seems,}And with your varying views and restless schemes,}Your griefs are transient, as your joys are dreams.Yet keen those griefs—ah! what avail thy charms,Fair Juliet! what that infant in thine arms;What those heroic lines thy patience learns,What all the aid thy present Romeo earns,Whilst thou art crowded in that lumbering wain,With all thy plaintive sisters to complain?Nor is there lack of labour.—To rehearse,90Day after day, poor scraps of prose and verse;To bear each other's spirit, pride, and spite;To hide in rant the heart-ache of the night;To dress in gaudy patch-work, and to forceThe mind to think on the appointed course:This is laborious, and may be definedThe bootless labour of the thriftless mind.There is a veteran dame—I see her standIntent and pensive with her book in hand;Awhile her thoughts she forces on her part,100Then dwells on objects nearer to the heart;Across the room she paces, gets her tone,And fits her features for the Danish throne;To-night a queen—I mark her motion slow,I hear her speech, and Hamlet's mother know.Methinks 'tis pitiful to see her tryFor strength of arms and energy of eye;With vigour lost, and spirits worn away,Her pomp and pride she labours to display;And when awhile she's tried her part to act,110To find her thoughts arrested by some fact;When struggles more and more severe are seenIn the plain actress than the Danishqueen;—At length she feels her part, she finds delight,And fancies all the plaudits of the night:Old as she is, she smiles at every speech,And thinks no youthful part beyond her reach.But, as the mist of vanity againIs blown away by press of present pain,Sad and in doubt she to her purse applies120For cause of comfort, where no comfort lies;Then to her task she sighing turnsagain,—"Oh! Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain!"And who that poor, consumptive, wither'd thing,Who strains her slender throat and strives to sing?Panting for breath, and forced her voice to drop,And far unlike the inmate of the shop,Where she, in youth and health, alert and gay,Laugh'd off at night the labours of the day;With novels, verses, fancy's fertile powers,130And sister-converse pass'd the evening-hours;But Cynthia's soul was soft, her wishes strong,Her judgment weak, and her conclusions wrong.The morning-call and counter were her dread,And her contempt the needle and the thread;But, when she read a gentle damsel's part,Her wo, her wish—she had them all by heart.At length the hero of the boards drew nigh,Who spake of love till sigh re-echo'd sigh;He told in honey'd words his deathless flame,140And she his own by tender vows became;Nor ring nor licence needed souls so fond,Alphonso's passion was his Cynthia's bond:And thus the simple girl, to shame betray'd,Sinks to the grave forsaken and dismay'd.Sick without pity, sorrowing without hope,See her, the grief and scandal of the troop;A wretched martyr to a childish pride,Her wo insulted, and her praise denied;Her humble talents, though derided, used,150Her prospects lost, her confidence abused;All that remains—for she not long can braveIncrease of evils—is an early grave,Ye gentle Cynthias of the shop, take heedWhat dreams ye cherish, and what books ye read.A decent sum had Peter Nottage made,By joining bricks—to him a thriving trade.Of his employment master and his wife,This humble tradesman led a lordly life;The house of kings and heroes lack'd repairs,160And Peter, though reluctant, served the players:Connected thus, he heard in waypolite,—"Come, Master Nottage, see us play to-night."At first 'twas folly, nonsense, idle stuff,But seen for nothing it grew well enough;And better now—now best, and every nightIn this fool's paradise he drank delight;And, as he felt the bliss, he wish'd to knowWhence all this rapture and these joys could flow;For, if the seeing could such pleasure bring,170What must the feeling?—feeling like a king?In vain his wife, his uncle, and his friend,Cried—"Peter! Peter! let such follies end;'Tis well enough these vagabonds to see,But would you partner with a showman be?""Showman!" said Peter, "did not Quin and Clive,And Roscius-Garrick, by the science thrive?Showman!—'tis scandal; I'm by genius ledTo join a class who've Shakspeare at their head."Poor Peter thus by easy steps became180A dreaming candidate for scenic fame;And, after years consumed, infirm and poor,He sits and takes the tickets at the door.Of various men these marching troops aremade—Pen-spurning clerks, and lads contemning trade;Waiters and servants by confinement teased,And youths of wealth by dissipation eased;With feeling nymphs, who, such resource at hand,Scorn to obey the rigour of command;Some, who from higher views by vice are won,190And some of either sex by love undone;The greater part lamenting as their fallWhat some an honour and advancement call.There are who names in shame or fear assume,And hence our Bevilles and our Savilles come:It honours him, from tailor's board kick'd down,As Mister Dormer to amuse the town;Falling, he rises: but a kind there areWho dwell on former prospects, and despair;Justly, but vainly, they their fate deplore,200And mourn their fall who fell to rise no more.Our merchant Thompson, with his sons around,Most mind and talent in his Frederick found:He was so lively, that his mother knew,If he were taught, that honour must ensue;The father's views were in a different line;But if at college he were sure to shine,Then should he go—to prosper, who coulddoubt—When school-boy stigmas would be all wash'd out;For there were marks upon his youthful face,210'Twixt vice and error—a neglected case:These would submit to skill; a little time,And none could trace the error or the crime;Then let him go, and once at college, heMight choose his station—what would Frederick be?'Twas soon determined.—He could not descendTo pedant-laws and lectures without end;And then the chapel—night and morn to pray,Or mulct and threaten'd if he kept away;No! not to be a bishop—so he swore,220And at his college he was seen no more.His debts all paid, the father with a sigh,Placed him in office—"Do, my Frederick, try;"Confine thyself a few short months, and then——"He tried a fortnight, and threw down the pen.Again demands were hush'd: "My son, you're free,But you're unsettled; take your chance at sea:"So in few days the midshipman equipp'd,Received the mother's blessing and was shipp'd.Hard was her fortune! soon compell'd to meet230The wretched stripling staggering through the street;For, rash, impetuous, insolent and vain,The captain sent him to his friends again.About the borough roved th' unhappy boy,And ate the bread of every chance-employ;Of friends he borrow'd, and the parents yetIn secret fondness authorised the debt;The younger sister, still a child, was taughtTo give with feign'd affright the pittance sought;For now the father cried—"It is too late240For trial more—I leave him to his fate"—Yet left him not; and with a kind of joyThe mother heard of her desponding boy:At length he sicken'd, and he found, when sick,All aid was ready, all attendance quick;A fever seized him, and at once was lostThe thought of trespass, error, crime and cost;Th' indulgent parents knelt beside the youth;They heard his promise and believed his truth;And, when the danger lessen'd on their view,250They cast off doubt, and hope assurance grew;—Nursed by his sisters, cherish'd by his sire,Begg'd to be glad, encouraged to aspire,His life, they said, would now all care repay,And he might date his prospects from that day;A son, a brother to his home received,They hoped for all things, and in all believed.And now will pardon, comfort, kindness, drawThe youth from vice? will honour, duty, law?Alas! not all: the more the trials lent,260The less he seem'd to ponder and repent;Headstrong, determined in his own career,He thought reproof unjust and truth severe;The soul's disease was to its crisis come,He first abused and then abjured his home;And when he chose a vagabond to be,He made his shame his glory—"I'll be free."Friends, parents, relatives, hope, reason, love,With anxious ardour for that empire strove;In vain their strife, in vain the means applied,270They had no comfort, but that all were tried;One strong vain trial made, the mind to move,Was the last effort of parental love.Ev'n then he watch'd his father from his home,And to his mother would for pity come,Where, as he made her tender terrors rise,He talk'd of death, and threaten'd for supplies.Against a youth so vicious and undoneAll hearts were closed, and every door but one:The players received him; they with open heart280Gave him his portion and assign'd his part;And ere three days were added to his life,He found a home, a duty, and a wife.His present friends, though they were nothing nice,Nor ask'd how vicious he, or what his vice,Still they expected he should now attendTo the joint duty as an useful friend;The leader too declared, with frown severe,That none should pawn a robe that kings might wear;And much it moved him, when he Hamlet play'd,290To see his Father's Ghost so drunken made.Then too the temper, the unbending prideOf this ally would no reproofabide:—So, leaving these, he march'd away and join'dAnother troop, and other goods purloin'd;And other characters, both gay and sage,Sober and sad, made stagger on the stage;Then to rebuke, with arrogant disdain,He gave abuse, and sought a home again.Thus changing scenes, but with unchanging vice,300Engaged by many, but with no one twice:Of this, a last and poor resource, bereft,He to himself, unhappy guide! wasleft—And who shall say where guided? to what seatsOf starving villany? of thieves and cheats?In that sad time, of many a dismal sceneHad he a witness (not inactive) been;Had leagued with petty pilferers, and had crept,Where of each sex degraded numbers slept.}With such associates he was long allied,}310Where his capacity for ill was tried,}And, that once lost, the wretch was cast aside;For now, though willing with the worst to act,He wanted powers for an important fact;And, while he felt as lawless spirits feel,His hand was palsied, and he couldn't steal.By these rejected, is there lot so strange,So low, that he could suffer by the change?Yes! the new station as a fall wejudge—He now became the harlot's humble drudge,320Their drudge in common: they combined to saveAwhile from starving their submissive slave;For now his spirit left him, and his pride,His scorn, his rancour, and resentment died;Few were his feelings—but the keenest these,The rage of hunger, and the sigh for ease;He who abused indulgence, now becameBy want subservient and by misery tame;A slave, he begg'd forbearance; bent with pain,He shunn'd the blow—"Ah! strike me not again."330Thus was he found: the master of a hoySaw the sad wretch, whom he had known a boyAt first in doubt; but Frederick laid asideAll shame, and humbly for his aid applied.He, tamed and smitten with the storms gone by,Look'd for compassion through one living eye,}And stretch'd th' unpalsied hand; the seaman felt}His honest heart with gentle pity melt,}And his small boon with cheerful frankness dealt;Then made inquiries of th' unhappy youth,340Who told, nor shame forbade him, all the truth."Young Frederick Thompson to a chandler's shopBy harlots order'd and afraid to stop!—What! our good merchant's favourite to be seenIn state so loathsome and in dress so mean?"—So thought the seaman as he bade adieu,And, when in port, related all he knew.But time was lost, inquiry came too late,Those whom he served knew nothing of his fate;No! they had seized on what the sailor gave,350Nor bore resistance from their abject slave;The spoil obtain'd, they cast him from the door,Robb'd, beaten, hungry, pain'd, diseased and poor.Then nature (pointing to the only spotWhich still had comfort for so dire a lot,)Although so feeble, led him on the way,And hope look'd forward to a happier day.He thought, poor prodigal! a father yetHis woes would pity and his crimes forget;Nor had he brother who with speech severe360Would check the pity or refrain the tear:A lighter spirit in his bosom rose,As near the road he sought an hour's repose.And there he found it: he had left the town,But buildings yet were scatter'd up and down;To one of these, half-ruin'd and half-built,Was traced this child of wretchedness and guilt;There on the remnant of a beggar's vest,Thrown by in scorn, the sufferer sought for rest;There was this scene of vice and wo to close,370And there the wretched body found repose.
}
Drawn by the annual call, we now behold
}
Our troop dramatic, heroes known of old,
}
And those, since last they march'd, inlisted and enroll'd:
Mounted on hacks or borne in waggons some,
The rest on foot (the humbler brethren) come.
Three favour'd places, an unequal time,
Join to support this company sublime:
}
Ours for the longer period—see how light
}
Yon parties move, their former friends in sight,
}
10
Whose claims are all allow'd, and friendship glads the night.
Now public rooms shall sound with words divine,
And private lodgings hear how heroes shine;
No talk of pay shall yet on pleasure steal,
But kindest welcome bless the friendly meal;
While o'er the social jug and decent cheer,
Shall be described the fortunes of the year.
Peruse these bills, and see what each cando,—
Behold! the prince, the slave, the monk, the Jew;
Change but the garment, and they'll all engage
20
To take each part, and act in every age.
Cull'd from all houses, what a house are they!
Swept from all barns, our borough-critics say;
But with some portion of a critic's ire,
We all endure them; there are some admire:
They might have praise, confined to farce alone;
Full well they grin—they should not try to groan;
But then our servants' and our seamen's wives
Love all that rant and rapture as their lives;
He who 'Squire Richard's part could well sustain,
30
Finds as King Richard he must roar amain,
"My horse! my horse!"—Lo! now to their abodes,
Come lords and lovers, empresses and gods.
The master-mover of these scenes has made
No trifling gain in this adventuroustrade;—
Trade we may term it, for he duly buys
Arms out of use and undirected eyes;
These he instructs, and guides them as he can,
And vends each night the manufactured man.
Long as our custom lasts, they gladly stay,
40
Then strike their tents, like Tartars! and away!
The place grows bare where they too long remain,
But grass will rise ere they return again.
Children of Thespis, welcome! knights and queens!
Counts! barons! beauties! when before your scenes,
And mighty monarchs thund'ring from your throne;
Then step behind, and all your glory's gone:
Of crown and palace, throne and guards bereft,
The pomp is vanish'd, and the care is left.
Yet strong and lively is the joy they feel,
50
When the full house secures the plenteous meal;
Flatt'ring and flatter'd, each attempts to raise
A brother's merits for a brother's praise:
For never hero shows a prouder heart,
Than he who proudly acts a hero'spart—
Nor without cause; the boards, we know, can yield
Place for fierce contest, like the tented field.
Graceful to tread the stage, to be in turn
The prince we honour, and the knave we spurn;
Bravely to bear the tumult of the crowd,
60
The hiss tremendous, and the censure loud:
These are their parts—and he who these sustains
Deserves some praise and profit for his pains.
}
Heroes at least of gentler kind are they,
}
Against whose swords no weeping widows pray,
}
No blood their fury sheds, nor havoc marks their way.
Sad happy race! soon raised and soon depress'd;
Your days all pass'd in jeopardy and jest;
Poor without prudence, with afflictions vain,
Not warn'd by misery, not enrich'd by gain;
70
Whom justice pitying, chides from place to place,
A wandering, careless, wretched, merry race;
Who cheerful looks assume, and play the parts
Of happy rovers with repining hearts;
Then cast off care, and in the mimic pain
Of tragic wo, feel spirits light and vain,
Distress and hope—the mind's, the body's wear,
The man's affliction, and the actor's tear:
Alternate times of fasting and excess
Are yours, ye smiling children of distress.
}
80
Slaves though ye be, your wandering freedom seems,
}
And with your varying views and restless schemes,
}
Your griefs are transient, as your joys are dreams.
Yet keen those griefs—ah! what avail thy charms,
Fair Juliet! what that infant in thine arms;
What those heroic lines thy patience learns,
What all the aid thy present Romeo earns,
Whilst thou art crowded in that lumbering wain,
With all thy plaintive sisters to complain?
Nor is there lack of labour.—To rehearse,
90
Day after day, poor scraps of prose and verse;
To bear each other's spirit, pride, and spite;
To hide in rant the heart-ache of the night;
To dress in gaudy patch-work, and to force
The mind to think on the appointed course:
This is laborious, and may be defined
The bootless labour of the thriftless mind.
There is a veteran dame—I see her stand
Intent and pensive with her book in hand;
Awhile her thoughts she forces on her part,
100
Then dwells on objects nearer to the heart;
Across the room she paces, gets her tone,
And fits her features for the Danish throne;
To-night a queen—I mark her motion slow,
I hear her speech, and Hamlet's mother know.
Methinks 'tis pitiful to see her try
For strength of arms and energy of eye;
With vigour lost, and spirits worn away,
Her pomp and pride she labours to display;
And when awhile she's tried her part to act,
110
To find her thoughts arrested by some fact;
When struggles more and more severe are seen
In the plain actress than the Danishqueen;—
At length she feels her part, she finds delight,
And fancies all the plaudits of the night:
Old as she is, she smiles at every speech,
And thinks no youthful part beyond her reach.
But, as the mist of vanity again
Is blown away by press of present pain,
Sad and in doubt she to her purse applies
120
For cause of comfort, where no comfort lies;
Then to her task she sighing turnsagain,—
"Oh! Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain!"
And who that poor, consumptive, wither'd thing,
Who strains her slender throat and strives to sing?
Panting for breath, and forced her voice to drop,
And far unlike the inmate of the shop,
Where she, in youth and health, alert and gay,
Laugh'd off at night the labours of the day;
With novels, verses, fancy's fertile powers,
130
And sister-converse pass'd the evening-hours;
But Cynthia's soul was soft, her wishes strong,
Her judgment weak, and her conclusions wrong.
The morning-call and counter were her dread,
And her contempt the needle and the thread;
But, when she read a gentle damsel's part,
Her wo, her wish—she had them all by heart.
At length the hero of the boards drew nigh,
Who spake of love till sigh re-echo'd sigh;
He told in honey'd words his deathless flame,
140
And she his own by tender vows became;
Nor ring nor licence needed souls so fond,
Alphonso's passion was his Cynthia's bond:
And thus the simple girl, to shame betray'd,
Sinks to the grave forsaken and dismay'd.
Sick without pity, sorrowing without hope,
See her, the grief and scandal of the troop;
A wretched martyr to a childish pride,
Her wo insulted, and her praise denied;
Her humble talents, though derided, used,
150
Her prospects lost, her confidence abused;
All that remains—for she not long can brave
Increase of evils—is an early grave,
Ye gentle Cynthias of the shop, take heed
What dreams ye cherish, and what books ye read.
A decent sum had Peter Nottage made,
By joining bricks—to him a thriving trade.
Of his employment master and his wife,
This humble tradesman led a lordly life;
The house of kings and heroes lack'd repairs,
160
And Peter, though reluctant, served the players:
Connected thus, he heard in waypolite,—
"Come, Master Nottage, see us play to-night."
At first 'twas folly, nonsense, idle stuff,
But seen for nothing it grew well enough;
And better now—now best, and every night
In this fool's paradise he drank delight;
And, as he felt the bliss, he wish'd to know
Whence all this rapture and these joys could flow;
For, if the seeing could such pleasure bring,
170
What must the feeling?—feeling like a king?
In vain his wife, his uncle, and his friend,
Cried—"Peter! Peter! let such follies end;
'Tis well enough these vagabonds to see,
But would you partner with a showman be?"
"Showman!" said Peter, "did not Quin and Clive,
And Roscius-Garrick, by the science thrive?
Showman!—'tis scandal; I'm by genius led
To join a class who've Shakspeare at their head."
Poor Peter thus by easy steps became
180
A dreaming candidate for scenic fame;
And, after years consumed, infirm and poor,
He sits and takes the tickets at the door.
Of various men these marching troops aremade—
Pen-spurning clerks, and lads contemning trade;
Waiters and servants by confinement teased,
And youths of wealth by dissipation eased;
With feeling nymphs, who, such resource at hand,
Scorn to obey the rigour of command;
Some, who from higher views by vice are won,
190
And some of either sex by love undone;
The greater part lamenting as their fall
What some an honour and advancement call.
There are who names in shame or fear assume,
And hence our Bevilles and our Savilles come:
It honours him, from tailor's board kick'd down,
As Mister Dormer to amuse the town;
Falling, he rises: but a kind there are
Who dwell on former prospects, and despair;
Justly, but vainly, they their fate deplore,
200
And mourn their fall who fell to rise no more.
Our merchant Thompson, with his sons around,
Most mind and talent in his Frederick found:
He was so lively, that his mother knew,
If he were taught, that honour must ensue;
The father's views were in a different line;
But if at college he were sure to shine,
Then should he go—to prosper, who coulddoubt—
When school-boy stigmas would be all wash'd out;
For there were marks upon his youthful face,
210
'Twixt vice and error—a neglected case:
These would submit to skill; a little time,
And none could trace the error or the crime;
Then let him go, and once at college, he
Might choose his station—what would Frederick be?
'Twas soon determined.—He could not descend
To pedant-laws and lectures without end;
And then the chapel—night and morn to pray,
Or mulct and threaten'd if he kept away;
No! not to be a bishop—so he swore,
220
And at his college he was seen no more.
His debts all paid, the father with a sigh,
Placed him in office—"Do, my Frederick, try;
"Confine thyself a few short months, and then——"
He tried a fortnight, and threw down the pen.
Again demands were hush'd: "My son, you're free,
But you're unsettled; take your chance at sea:"
So in few days the midshipman equipp'd,
Received the mother's blessing and was shipp'd.
Hard was her fortune! soon compell'd to meet
230
The wretched stripling staggering through the street;
For, rash, impetuous, insolent and vain,
The captain sent him to his friends again.
About the borough roved th' unhappy boy,
And ate the bread of every chance-employ;
Of friends he borrow'd, and the parents yet
In secret fondness authorised the debt;
The younger sister, still a child, was taught
To give with feign'd affright the pittance sought;
For now the father cried—"It is too late
240
For trial more—I leave him to his fate"—
Yet left him not; and with a kind of joy
The mother heard of her desponding boy:
At length he sicken'd, and he found, when sick,
All aid was ready, all attendance quick;
A fever seized him, and at once was lost
The thought of trespass, error, crime and cost;
Th' indulgent parents knelt beside the youth;
They heard his promise and believed his truth;
And, when the danger lessen'd on their view,
250
They cast off doubt, and hope assurance grew;—
Nursed by his sisters, cherish'd by his sire,
Begg'd to be glad, encouraged to aspire,
His life, they said, would now all care repay,
And he might date his prospects from that day;
A son, a brother to his home received,
They hoped for all things, and in all believed.
And now will pardon, comfort, kindness, draw
The youth from vice? will honour, duty, law?
Alas! not all: the more the trials lent,
260
The less he seem'd to ponder and repent;
Headstrong, determined in his own career,
He thought reproof unjust and truth severe;
The soul's disease was to its crisis come,
He first abused and then abjured his home;
And when he chose a vagabond to be,
He made his shame his glory—"I'll be free."
Friends, parents, relatives, hope, reason, love,
With anxious ardour for that empire strove;
In vain their strife, in vain the means applied,
270
They had no comfort, but that all were tried;
One strong vain trial made, the mind to move,
Was the last effort of parental love.
Ev'n then he watch'd his father from his home,
And to his mother would for pity come,
Where, as he made her tender terrors rise,
He talk'd of death, and threaten'd for supplies.
Against a youth so vicious and undone
All hearts were closed, and every door but one:
The players received him; they with open heart
280
Gave him his portion and assign'd his part;
And ere three days were added to his life,
He found a home, a duty, and a wife.
His present friends, though they were nothing nice,
Nor ask'd how vicious he, or what his vice,
Still they expected he should now attend
To the joint duty as an useful friend;
The leader too declared, with frown severe,
That none should pawn a robe that kings might wear;
And much it moved him, when he Hamlet play'd,
290
To see his Father's Ghost so drunken made.
Then too the temper, the unbending pride
Of this ally would no reproofabide:—
So, leaving these, he march'd away and join'd
Another troop, and other goods purloin'd;
And other characters, both gay and sage,
Sober and sad, made stagger on the stage;
Then to rebuke, with arrogant disdain,
He gave abuse, and sought a home again.
Thus changing scenes, but with unchanging vice,
300
Engaged by many, but with no one twice:
Of this, a last and poor resource, bereft,
He to himself, unhappy guide! wasleft—
And who shall say where guided? to what seats
Of starving villany? of thieves and cheats?
In that sad time, of many a dismal scene
Had he a witness (not inactive) been;
Had leagued with petty pilferers, and had crept,
Where of each sex degraded numbers slept.
}
With such associates he was long allied,
}
310
Where his capacity for ill was tried,
}
And, that once lost, the wretch was cast aside;
For now, though willing with the worst to act,
He wanted powers for an important fact;
And, while he felt as lawless spirits feel,
His hand was palsied, and he couldn't steal.
By these rejected, is there lot so strange,
So low, that he could suffer by the change?
Yes! the new station as a fall wejudge—
He now became the harlot's humble drudge,
320
Their drudge in common: they combined to save
Awhile from starving their submissive slave;
For now his spirit left him, and his pride,
His scorn, his rancour, and resentment died;
Few were his feelings—but the keenest these,
The rage of hunger, and the sigh for ease;
He who abused indulgence, now became
By want subservient and by misery tame;
A slave, he begg'd forbearance; bent with pain,
He shunn'd the blow—"Ah! strike me not again."
330
Thus was he found: the master of a hoy
Saw the sad wretch, whom he had known a boy
At first in doubt; but Frederick laid aside
All shame, and humbly for his aid applied.
He, tamed and smitten with the storms gone by,
Look'd for compassion through one living eye,
}
And stretch'd th' unpalsied hand; the seaman felt
}
His honest heart with gentle pity melt,
}
And his small boon with cheerful frankness dealt;
Then made inquiries of th' unhappy youth,
340
Who told, nor shame forbade him, all the truth.
"Young Frederick Thompson to a chandler's shop
By harlots order'd and afraid to stop!—
What! our good merchant's favourite to be seen
In state so loathsome and in dress so mean?"—
So thought the seaman as he bade adieu,
And, when in port, related all he knew.
But time was lost, inquiry came too late,
Those whom he served knew nothing of his fate;
No! they had seized on what the sailor gave,
350
Nor bore resistance from their abject slave;
The spoil obtain'd, they cast him from the door,
Robb'd, beaten, hungry, pain'd, diseased and poor.
Then nature (pointing to the only spot
Which still had comfort for so dire a lot,)
Although so feeble, led him on the way,
And hope look'd forward to a happier day.
He thought, poor prodigal! a father yet
His woes would pity and his crimes forget;
Nor had he brother who with speech severe
360
Would check the pity or refrain the tear:
A lighter spirit in his bosom rose,
As near the road he sought an hour's repose.
And there he found it: he had left the town,
But buildings yet were scatter'd up and down;
To one of these, half-ruin'd and half-built,
Was traced this child of wretchedness and guilt;
There on the remnant of a beggar's vest,
Thrown by in scorn, the sufferer sought for rest;
There was this scene of vice and wo to close,
370
And there the wretched body found repose.
FOOTNOTES:[63]Strolling players are thus held in a legal sense.
FOOTNOTES:
[63]Strolling players are thus held in a legal sense.
[63]Strolling players are thus held in a legal sense.
THE ALMS-HOUSE AND TRUSTEES.
Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.[Pope, Epilogue to the Satires, Dialogue I., v. 136.]
Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
[Pope, Epilogue to the Satires, Dialogue I., v. 136.]
There are a sort of men whose visagesDo cream and mantle like a standing [pond,]And do a wilful stillness entertain,With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion[...]As who should say, "I am Sir Oracle,And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!"Merchant of Venice[Act I. Sc. 1. vv. 88-94].
There are a sort of men whose visages
Do cream and mantle like a standing [pond,]
And do a wilful stillness entertain,
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion[...]
As who should say, "I am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark!"
Merchant of Venice[Act I. Sc. 1. vv. 88-94].
Sum felix; quis enim neget? felixque manebo;Hoc quoque quis dubitet? Tutum me copia fecit.
Sum felix; quis enim neget? felixque manebo;
Hoc quoque quis dubitet? Tutum me copia fecit.
The frugal Merchant—Rivalship in Modes of Frugality—Private Exceptions to the general Manners—Alms-House built—Its Description—Founder dies—Six Trustees—Sir Denys Brand, a Principal—His Eulogium in the Chronicles of the Day—Truth reckoned invidious on these Occasions—An Explanation of the Magnanimity and Wisdom of Sir Denys—His Kinds of Moderation and Humility—Laughton, his Successor, a planning, ambitious, wealthy Man—Advancement in Life his perpetual Object, and all Things made the Means of it—His Idea of Falsehood—His Resentment dangerous: how removed—Success produces Love of Flattery: his daily Gratification—His Merits and Acts of Kindness—His proper Choice of Alms-Men—In this Respect meritorious—His Predecessor not so cautious.
LETTER XIII.
THE ALMS-HOUSE AND TRUSTEES.
Leave now our streets, and in yon plain beholdThose pleasant seats for the reduced and old;A merchant's gift, whose wife and children died,When he to saving all his powers applied;He wore his coat till bare was every thread,And with the meanest fare his body fed.He had a female cousin, who with careWalk'd in his steps and learn'd of him to spare;With emulation and success they strove,10Improving still, still seeking to improve,As if that useful knowledge they wouldgain—How little food would human life sustain:No pauper came their table's crums to crave;Scraping they lived, but not a scrap they gave:When beggars saw the frugal merchant pass,It moved their pity, and they said, "Alas!Hard is thy fate, my brother," and they feltA beggar's pride as they that pity dealt:The dogs, who learn of man to scorn the poor,20Bark'd him away from ev'ry decent door;While they who saw him bare, but thought him rich,To show respect or scorn, they knew not which.But while our merchant seem'd so base and mean,He had his wanderings, sometimes, "not unseen;"To give in secret was a favourite act,Yet more than once they took him in the fact.To scenes of various wo he nightly went,And serious sums in healing misery spent;Oft has he cheer'd the wretched, at a rate30For which he daily might have dined on plate;}He has been seen—his hair all silver-white,}Shaking and shining—as he stole by night,}To feed unenvied on his still delight.A two-fold taste he had: to give and spare,Both were his duties, and had equal care;It was his joy, to sit alone and fast,Then send a widow and her boys repast.Tears in his eyes would, spite of him, appear,But he from other eyes has kept the tear:40All in a wint'ry night from far he came,To soothe the sorrows of a suff'ring dame;Whose husband robb'd him, and to whom he meantA ling'ring, but reforming punishment.Home then he walk'd, and found his anger rise,When fire and rush-light met his troubled eyes;But, these extinguish'd, and his prayer address'dTo Heaven in hope, he calmly sank to rest.His seventieth year was pass'd, and then was seenA building rising on the northern green;50There was no blinding all his neighbours' eyes,Or surely no one would have seen it rise.Twelve rooms contiguous stood, and six were near;There men were placed, and sober matrons here;There were behind small useful gardens made,Benches before, and trees to give them shade;In the first room were seen, above, below,Some marks of taste, a few attempts at show;The founder's picture and his arms were there(Not till he left us), and an elbow'd chair;60There, 'mid these signs of his superior place,Sat the mild ruler of this humble race.Within the row are men who strove in vain,Through years of trouble, wealth and ease to gain;Less must they have than an appointed sum,And freemen been, or hither must not come;They should be decent and command respect(Though needing fortune,) whom these doors protect,And should for thirty dismal years have triedFor peace unfelt and competence denied.70Strange, that o'er men thus train'd in sorrow's school,Power must be held, and they must live by rule!Infirm, corrected by misfortunes, old,Their habits settled and their passions cold;Of health, wealth, power, and worldly cares, bereft,Still must they not at liberty be left;There must be one to rule them, to restrainAnd guide the movements of his erring train.If then control imperious, check severe,Be needed where such reverend men appear;80To what would youth, without such checks, aspire,Free the wild wish, uncurb'd the strong desire?And where (in college or in camp) they foundThe heart ungovern'd and the hand unbound?His house endow'd, the generous man resign'dAll power to rule, nay power of choice declined;He and the female saint survived to viewTheir work complete, and bade the world adieu!Six are the guardians of this happy seat,And one presides when they on business meet;90As each expires, the five a brother choose;Nor would Sir Denys Brand the charge refuse;True, 'twas beneath him, "but to do men goodWas motive never by his heart withstood."He too is gone, and they again must striveTo find a man in whom his gifts survive.Now, in the various records of the dead,Thy worth, Sir Denys, shall be weigh'd and read;There we the glory of thy house shall trace,With each alliance of thy noble race.100Yes! here we have him!—"Came in William's reignThe Norman-Brand, the blood without a stain;From the fierce Dane and ruder Saxon clear,Pict, Irish, Scot, or Cambrian mountaineer;But the pure Norman was the sacred spring,And he, Sir Denys, was in heart a king:Erect in person and so firm in soul,Fortune he seem'd to govern and control;"Generous as he who gives his all away,Prudent as one who toils for weekly pay;110In him all merits were decreed to meet—Sincere though cautious, frank and yet discreet;Just all his dealings, faithful every word;His passions' master, and his temper's lord."Yet more, kind dealers in decaying fame?His magnanimity you next proclaim;You give him learning, join'd with sound good sense,And match his wealth with his benevolence;What hides the multitude of sins, youadd—Yet seem to doubt if sins he ever had.120Poor honest Truth! thou writ'st of living men,And art a railer and detractor then;They die, again to be described, and nowA foe to merit and mankind art thou!Why banish truth? it injures not the dead;It aids not them with flattery to be fed;And, when mankind such perfect pictures view,They copy less, the more they think them true.Let us a mortal as he was behold,And see the dross adhering to the gold;130When we the errors of the virtuous state,Then erring men their worth may emulate.View then this picture of a noble mind:Let him be wise, magnanimous, and kind;What was the wisdom? Was it not the frownThat keeps all question, all inquiry down?His words were powerful and decisive all;But his slow reasons came for no man's call."'Tis thus," he cried, no doubt with kind intent,To give results and spare allargument.—140"Let it be spared—-all men at least agreeSir Denys Brand had magnanimity:His were no vulgar charities; none sawHim like the merchant to the hut withdraw;He left to meaner minds the simple deed,By which the houseless rest, the hungry feed;His was a public bounty vast and grand;'Twas not in him to work with viewless hand;He raised the room that towers above the street,A public room where grateful parties meet;150He first the life-boat plann'd; to him the placeIs deep in debt—'twas he reviv'd the race;To every public act this hearty friendWould give with freedom or with frankness lend;His money built the jail, nor prisoner yetSits at his ease, but he must feel the debt;}To these let candour add his vast display—}Around his mansion all is grand and gay,}And this is bounty with the name of pay."I grant the whole, nor from one deed retract,160But wish recorded too the private act;All these were great, but still our hearts approveThose simpler tokens of the Christian love;'Twould give me joy some gracious deed to meet,That has not call'd for glory through the street.Who felt for many, could not always shun,In some soft moment, to be kind to one;And yet they tell us, when Sir Denys died,That not a widow in the Borough sigh'd;Great were his gifts, his mighty heart I own,170But why describe what all the world has known?The rest is petty pride, the useless artOf a vain mind to hide a swelling heart.Small was his private room; men found him thereBy a plain table, on a paltry chair;A wretched floor-cloth, and some prints around,The easy purchase of a single pound:These humble trifles and that study smallMake a strong contrast with the servants' hall;There barely comfort, here a proud excess,180The pompous seat of pamper'd idleness,Where the sleek rogues with one consent declare,They would not live upon his honour's fare.He daily took but one half-hour to dine,On one poor dish and some three sips of wine;Then he'd abuse them for their sumptuous feasts,And say, "My friends! you make yourselves like beasts;One dish suffices any man to dine,But you are greedy as a herd of swine;Learn to be temperate."—Had they dared t' obey,190He would have praised and turn'd them all away.Friends met Sir Denys riding in his ground,And there the meekness of his spirit found:For that grey coat, not new for many a year,Hides all that would like decent dress appear;An old brown pony 'twas his will to ride,Who shuffled onward, and from side to side;A five-pound purchase, but so fat and sleek,His very plenty made the creature weak."Sir Denys Brand! and on so poor a steed!"—200"Poor! it may be—such things I never heed:"And who that youth behind, of pleasant mien,Equipp'd as one who wishes to be seen,Upon a horse, twice victor for a plate,A noble hunter, bought at dearest rate?—Him the lad, fearing, yet resolved to guide,He curbs his spirit, while he strokes his pride."A handsome youth, Sir Denys; and a horseOf finer figure never trod thecourse—Yours, without question?"—"Yes! I think, a groom210Bought me the beast; I cannot say the sum:I ride him not, it is a foolish prideMen have in cattle—but my people ride;The boy is—hark ye, sirrah! what's your name?Ay, Jacob, yes! I recollect—the same,As I bethink me now, a tenant'sson—I think a tenant—is your father one?"There was an idle boy who ran about,And found his master's humble spirit out;He would at awful distance snatch a look,220Then run away and hide him in some nook;"For oh!" quoth he, "I dare not fix my sightOn him, his grandeur puts me in a fright;Oh! Mister Jacob, when you wait on him,Do you not quake and tremble every limb?"The steward soon had orders—"Summers, seeThat Sam be clothed, and let him wait on me."Sir Denys died, bequeathing all affairsIn trust to Laughton's long experienced cares,Before a guardian; and, Sir Denys dead,230All rule and power devolved upon his head.Numbers are call'd to govern, but in factOnly the powerful and assuming act.Laughton, too wise to be a dupe to fame,Cared not a whit of what descent he came,Till he was rich; he then conceived the thoughtTo fish for pedigree, but never caught.All his desire, when he was young and poor,Was to advance; he never cared for more:"Let me buy, sell, be factor, take a wife,240Take any road to get along in life."Was he a miser then? a robber? foeTo those who trusted? a deceiver?—No!He was ambitious; all his powers of mindWere to one end controll'd, improved, combined;Wit, learning, judgment, were, by his account,Steps for the ladder he design'd to mount.Such step was money: wealth was but his slave,For power he gain'd it, and for power he gave;Full well the Borough knows that he'd the art250Of bringing money to the surest mart;Friends too were aids, they led to certain ends,Increase of power and claim on other friends.A favourite step was marriage: then he gain'dSeat in our hall, and o'er his party reign'd;Houses and lands he bought, and long'd to buy,But never drew the springs of purchase dry;And thus at last they answer'd every call,The failing found him ready for their fall.He walks along the street, the mart, the quay,260And looks and mutters, "This belongs to me."}His passions all partook the general bent;}Interest inform'd him when he should resent,}How long resist, and on what terms relent.In points where he determined to succeed,In vain might reason or compassion plead;But gain'd his point, he was the best of men,'Twas loss of time to be vexatious then:Hence he was mild to all men whom he led,Of all who dared resist the scourge and dread.270Falsehood in him was not the useless lieOf boasting pride or laughing vanity;It was the gainful, the persuading art,That made its way and won the doubting heart,Which argued, soften'd, humbled, and prevail'd;Nor was it tried till ev'ry truth had fail'd;No sage on earth could more than he despiseDegrading, poor, unprofitable lies.Though fond of gain, and grieved by wanton waste,To social parties he had no distaste;280With one presiding purpose in his view,He sometimes could descend to trifle too!Yet, in these moments, he had still the artTo ope the looks and close the guarded heart;And, like the public host, has sometimes madeA grand repast, for which the guests have paid.At length, with power endued and wealthy grown,Frailties and passions, long suppressed, were shown;Then, to provoke him was a dangerous thing;His pride would punish, and his temper sting;290His powerful hatred sought th' avenging hour,And his proud vengeance struck with all hispower—Save when th' offender took a prudent wayThe rising storm of fury to allay.This might he do, and so in safety sleep,By largely casting to the angry deep;Or, better yet (its swelling force t' assuage,)By pouring oil of flattery on its rage.And now, of all the heart approved, possess'd,Fear'd, favour'd, follow'd, dreaded, and caress'd,300He gently yields to one mellifluous joy,The only sweet that is not found to cloy,Bland adulation! Other pleasures pallOn the sick taste, and transient are they all;But this one sweet has such enchanting power,The more we take, the faster we devour;Nauseous to those who must the dose apply,And most disgusting to the standers-by;Yet in all companies will Laughton feed,Nor care how grossly men perform the deed.310As gapes the nursling, or, what comes more near,Some Friendly-island chief, for hourlycheer—When wives and slaves, attending round his seat,Prepare by turns the masticated meat:So for this master, husband, parent, friend,His ready slaves their various efforts blend,And, to their lord still eagerly inclined,Pour the crude trash of a dependent mind.But let the muse assign the man his due;Worth he possess'd, nor were his virtuesfew;—320He sometimes help'd the injured in their cause;His power and purse have back'd the failing laws;He for religion has a due respect,And all his serious notions are correct;Although he pray'd and languished for a son,He grew resigned when Heaven denied him one;He never to this quiet mansion sendsSubject unfit, in compliment to friends.Not so Sir Denys, who would yet protestHe always chose the worthiest and the best:330Not men in trade by various loss brought down,But those whose glory once amazed the town;Who their last guinea in their pleasures spent,Yet never fell so low as to repent;To these his pity he could largely deal,Wealth they had known, and therefore want could feel.Three seats were vacant while Sir Denys reign'd,And three such favourites their admission gain'd;These let us view, still more to understandThe moral feelings of Sir Denys Brand.
Leave now our streets, and in yon plain beholdThose pleasant seats for the reduced and old;A merchant's gift, whose wife and children died,When he to saving all his powers applied;He wore his coat till bare was every thread,And with the meanest fare his body fed.He had a female cousin, who with careWalk'd in his steps and learn'd of him to spare;With emulation and success they strove,10Improving still, still seeking to improve,As if that useful knowledge they wouldgain—How little food would human life sustain:No pauper came their table's crums to crave;Scraping they lived, but not a scrap they gave:When beggars saw the frugal merchant pass,It moved their pity, and they said, "Alas!Hard is thy fate, my brother," and they feltA beggar's pride as they that pity dealt:The dogs, who learn of man to scorn the poor,20Bark'd him away from ev'ry decent door;While they who saw him bare, but thought him rich,To show respect or scorn, they knew not which.But while our merchant seem'd so base and mean,He had his wanderings, sometimes, "not unseen;"To give in secret was a favourite act,Yet more than once they took him in the fact.To scenes of various wo he nightly went,And serious sums in healing misery spent;Oft has he cheer'd the wretched, at a rate30For which he daily might have dined on plate;}He has been seen—his hair all silver-white,}Shaking and shining—as he stole by night,}To feed unenvied on his still delight.A two-fold taste he had: to give and spare,Both were his duties, and had equal care;It was his joy, to sit alone and fast,Then send a widow and her boys repast.Tears in his eyes would, spite of him, appear,But he from other eyes has kept the tear:40All in a wint'ry night from far he came,To soothe the sorrows of a suff'ring dame;Whose husband robb'd him, and to whom he meantA ling'ring, but reforming punishment.Home then he walk'd, and found his anger rise,When fire and rush-light met his troubled eyes;But, these extinguish'd, and his prayer address'dTo Heaven in hope, he calmly sank to rest.His seventieth year was pass'd, and then was seenA building rising on the northern green;50There was no blinding all his neighbours' eyes,Or surely no one would have seen it rise.Twelve rooms contiguous stood, and six were near;There men were placed, and sober matrons here;There were behind small useful gardens made,Benches before, and trees to give them shade;In the first room were seen, above, below,Some marks of taste, a few attempts at show;The founder's picture and his arms were there(Not till he left us), and an elbow'd chair;60There, 'mid these signs of his superior place,Sat the mild ruler of this humble race.Within the row are men who strove in vain,Through years of trouble, wealth and ease to gain;Less must they have than an appointed sum,And freemen been, or hither must not come;They should be decent and command respect(Though needing fortune,) whom these doors protect,And should for thirty dismal years have triedFor peace unfelt and competence denied.70Strange, that o'er men thus train'd in sorrow's school,Power must be held, and they must live by rule!Infirm, corrected by misfortunes, old,Their habits settled and their passions cold;Of health, wealth, power, and worldly cares, bereft,Still must they not at liberty be left;There must be one to rule them, to restrainAnd guide the movements of his erring train.If then control imperious, check severe,Be needed where such reverend men appear;80To what would youth, without such checks, aspire,Free the wild wish, uncurb'd the strong desire?And where (in college or in camp) they foundThe heart ungovern'd and the hand unbound?His house endow'd, the generous man resign'dAll power to rule, nay power of choice declined;He and the female saint survived to viewTheir work complete, and bade the world adieu!Six are the guardians of this happy seat,And one presides when they on business meet;90As each expires, the five a brother choose;Nor would Sir Denys Brand the charge refuse;True, 'twas beneath him, "but to do men goodWas motive never by his heart withstood."He too is gone, and they again must striveTo find a man in whom his gifts survive.Now, in the various records of the dead,Thy worth, Sir Denys, shall be weigh'd and read;There we the glory of thy house shall trace,With each alliance of thy noble race.100Yes! here we have him!—"Came in William's reignThe Norman-Brand, the blood without a stain;From the fierce Dane and ruder Saxon clear,Pict, Irish, Scot, or Cambrian mountaineer;But the pure Norman was the sacred spring,And he, Sir Denys, was in heart a king:Erect in person and so firm in soul,Fortune he seem'd to govern and control;"Generous as he who gives his all away,Prudent as one who toils for weekly pay;110In him all merits were decreed to meet—Sincere though cautious, frank and yet discreet;Just all his dealings, faithful every word;His passions' master, and his temper's lord."Yet more, kind dealers in decaying fame?His magnanimity you next proclaim;You give him learning, join'd with sound good sense,And match his wealth with his benevolence;What hides the multitude of sins, youadd—Yet seem to doubt if sins he ever had.120Poor honest Truth! thou writ'st of living men,And art a railer and detractor then;They die, again to be described, and nowA foe to merit and mankind art thou!Why banish truth? it injures not the dead;It aids not them with flattery to be fed;And, when mankind such perfect pictures view,They copy less, the more they think them true.Let us a mortal as he was behold,And see the dross adhering to the gold;130When we the errors of the virtuous state,Then erring men their worth may emulate.View then this picture of a noble mind:Let him be wise, magnanimous, and kind;What was the wisdom? Was it not the frownThat keeps all question, all inquiry down?His words were powerful and decisive all;But his slow reasons came for no man's call."'Tis thus," he cried, no doubt with kind intent,To give results and spare allargument.—140"Let it be spared—-all men at least agreeSir Denys Brand had magnanimity:His were no vulgar charities; none sawHim like the merchant to the hut withdraw;He left to meaner minds the simple deed,By which the houseless rest, the hungry feed;His was a public bounty vast and grand;'Twas not in him to work with viewless hand;He raised the room that towers above the street,A public room where grateful parties meet;150He first the life-boat plann'd; to him the placeIs deep in debt—'twas he reviv'd the race;To every public act this hearty friendWould give with freedom or with frankness lend;His money built the jail, nor prisoner yetSits at his ease, but he must feel the debt;}To these let candour add his vast display—}Around his mansion all is grand and gay,}And this is bounty with the name of pay."I grant the whole, nor from one deed retract,160But wish recorded too the private act;All these were great, but still our hearts approveThose simpler tokens of the Christian love;'Twould give me joy some gracious deed to meet,That has not call'd for glory through the street.Who felt for many, could not always shun,In some soft moment, to be kind to one;And yet they tell us, when Sir Denys died,That not a widow in the Borough sigh'd;Great were his gifts, his mighty heart I own,170But why describe what all the world has known?The rest is petty pride, the useless artOf a vain mind to hide a swelling heart.Small was his private room; men found him thereBy a plain table, on a paltry chair;A wretched floor-cloth, and some prints around,The easy purchase of a single pound:These humble trifles and that study smallMake a strong contrast with the servants' hall;There barely comfort, here a proud excess,180The pompous seat of pamper'd idleness,Where the sleek rogues with one consent declare,They would not live upon his honour's fare.He daily took but one half-hour to dine,On one poor dish and some three sips of wine;Then he'd abuse them for their sumptuous feasts,And say, "My friends! you make yourselves like beasts;One dish suffices any man to dine,But you are greedy as a herd of swine;Learn to be temperate."—Had they dared t' obey,190He would have praised and turn'd them all away.Friends met Sir Denys riding in his ground,And there the meekness of his spirit found:For that grey coat, not new for many a year,Hides all that would like decent dress appear;An old brown pony 'twas his will to ride,Who shuffled onward, and from side to side;A five-pound purchase, but so fat and sleek,His very plenty made the creature weak."Sir Denys Brand! and on so poor a steed!"—200"Poor! it may be—such things I never heed:"And who that youth behind, of pleasant mien,Equipp'd as one who wishes to be seen,Upon a horse, twice victor for a plate,A noble hunter, bought at dearest rate?—Him the lad, fearing, yet resolved to guide,He curbs his spirit, while he strokes his pride."A handsome youth, Sir Denys; and a horseOf finer figure never trod thecourse—Yours, without question?"—"Yes! I think, a groom210Bought me the beast; I cannot say the sum:I ride him not, it is a foolish prideMen have in cattle—but my people ride;The boy is—hark ye, sirrah! what's your name?Ay, Jacob, yes! I recollect—the same,As I bethink me now, a tenant'sson—I think a tenant—is your father one?"There was an idle boy who ran about,And found his master's humble spirit out;He would at awful distance snatch a look,220Then run away and hide him in some nook;"For oh!" quoth he, "I dare not fix my sightOn him, his grandeur puts me in a fright;Oh! Mister Jacob, when you wait on him,Do you not quake and tremble every limb?"The steward soon had orders—"Summers, seeThat Sam be clothed, and let him wait on me."
Leave now our streets, and in yon plain behold
Those pleasant seats for the reduced and old;
A merchant's gift, whose wife and children died,
When he to saving all his powers applied;
He wore his coat till bare was every thread,
And with the meanest fare his body fed.
He had a female cousin, who with care
Walk'd in his steps and learn'd of him to spare;
With emulation and success they strove,
10
Improving still, still seeking to improve,
As if that useful knowledge they wouldgain—
How little food would human life sustain:
No pauper came their table's crums to crave;
Scraping they lived, but not a scrap they gave:
When beggars saw the frugal merchant pass,
It moved their pity, and they said, "Alas!
Hard is thy fate, my brother," and they felt
A beggar's pride as they that pity dealt:
The dogs, who learn of man to scorn the poor,
20
Bark'd him away from ev'ry decent door;
While they who saw him bare, but thought him rich,
To show respect or scorn, they knew not which.
But while our merchant seem'd so base and mean,
He had his wanderings, sometimes, "not unseen;"
To give in secret was a favourite act,
Yet more than once they took him in the fact.
To scenes of various wo he nightly went,
And serious sums in healing misery spent;
Oft has he cheer'd the wretched, at a rate
30
For which he daily might have dined on plate;
}
He has been seen—his hair all silver-white,
}
Shaking and shining—as he stole by night,
}
To feed unenvied on his still delight.
A two-fold taste he had: to give and spare,
Both were his duties, and had equal care;
It was his joy, to sit alone and fast,
Then send a widow and her boys repast.
Tears in his eyes would, spite of him, appear,
But he from other eyes has kept the tear:
40
All in a wint'ry night from far he came,
To soothe the sorrows of a suff'ring dame;
Whose husband robb'd him, and to whom he meant
A ling'ring, but reforming punishment.
Home then he walk'd, and found his anger rise,
When fire and rush-light met his troubled eyes;
But, these extinguish'd, and his prayer address'd
To Heaven in hope, he calmly sank to rest.
His seventieth year was pass'd, and then was seen
A building rising on the northern green;
50
There was no blinding all his neighbours' eyes,
Or surely no one would have seen it rise.
Twelve rooms contiguous stood, and six were near;
There men were placed, and sober matrons here;
There were behind small useful gardens made,
Benches before, and trees to give them shade;
In the first room were seen, above, below,
Some marks of taste, a few attempts at show;
The founder's picture and his arms were there
(Not till he left us), and an elbow'd chair;
60
There, 'mid these signs of his superior place,
Sat the mild ruler of this humble race.
Within the row are men who strove in vain,
Through years of trouble, wealth and ease to gain;
Less must they have than an appointed sum,
And freemen been, or hither must not come;
They should be decent and command respect
(Though needing fortune,) whom these doors protect,
And should for thirty dismal years have tried
For peace unfelt and competence denied.
70
Strange, that o'er men thus train'd in sorrow's school,
Power must be held, and they must live by rule!
Infirm, corrected by misfortunes, old,
Their habits settled and their passions cold;
Of health, wealth, power, and worldly cares, bereft,
Still must they not at liberty be left;
There must be one to rule them, to restrain
And guide the movements of his erring train.
If then control imperious, check severe,
Be needed where such reverend men appear;
80
To what would youth, without such checks, aspire,
Free the wild wish, uncurb'd the strong desire?
And where (in college or in camp) they found
The heart ungovern'd and the hand unbound?
His house endow'd, the generous man resign'd
All power to rule, nay power of choice declined;
He and the female saint survived to view
Their work complete, and bade the world adieu!
Six are the guardians of this happy seat,
And one presides when they on business meet;
90
As each expires, the five a brother choose;
Nor would Sir Denys Brand the charge refuse;
True, 'twas beneath him, "but to do men good
Was motive never by his heart withstood."
He too is gone, and they again must strive
To find a man in whom his gifts survive.
Now, in the various records of the dead,
Thy worth, Sir Denys, shall be weigh'd and read;
There we the glory of thy house shall trace,
With each alliance of thy noble race.
100
Yes! here we have him!—"Came in William's reign
The Norman-Brand, the blood without a stain;
From the fierce Dane and ruder Saxon clear,
Pict, Irish, Scot, or Cambrian mountaineer;
But the pure Norman was the sacred spring,
And he, Sir Denys, was in heart a king:
Erect in person and so firm in soul,
Fortune he seem'd to govern and control;
"Generous as he who gives his all away,
Prudent as one who toils for weekly pay;
110
In him all merits were decreed to meet—
Sincere though cautious, frank and yet discreet;
Just all his dealings, faithful every word;
His passions' master, and his temper's lord."
Yet more, kind dealers in decaying fame?
His magnanimity you next proclaim;
You give him learning, join'd with sound good sense,
And match his wealth with his benevolence;
What hides the multitude of sins, youadd—
Yet seem to doubt if sins he ever had.
120
Poor honest Truth! thou writ'st of living men,
And art a railer and detractor then;
They die, again to be described, and now
A foe to merit and mankind art thou!
Why banish truth? it injures not the dead;
It aids not them with flattery to be fed;
And, when mankind such perfect pictures view,
They copy less, the more they think them true.
Let us a mortal as he was behold,
And see the dross adhering to the gold;
130
When we the errors of the virtuous state,
Then erring men their worth may emulate.
View then this picture of a noble mind:
Let him be wise, magnanimous, and kind;
What was the wisdom? Was it not the frown
That keeps all question, all inquiry down?
His words were powerful and decisive all;
But his slow reasons came for no man's call.
"'Tis thus," he cried, no doubt with kind intent,
To give results and spare allargument.—
140
"Let it be spared—-all men at least agree
Sir Denys Brand had magnanimity:
His were no vulgar charities; none saw
Him like the merchant to the hut withdraw;
He left to meaner minds the simple deed,
By which the houseless rest, the hungry feed;
His was a public bounty vast and grand;
'Twas not in him to work with viewless hand;
He raised the room that towers above the street,
A public room where grateful parties meet;
150
He first the life-boat plann'd; to him the place
Is deep in debt—'twas he reviv'd the race;
To every public act this hearty friend
Would give with freedom or with frankness lend;
His money built the jail, nor prisoner yet
Sits at his ease, but he must feel the debt;
}
To these let candour add his vast display—
}
Around his mansion all is grand and gay,
}
And this is bounty with the name of pay."
I grant the whole, nor from one deed retract,
160
But wish recorded too the private act;
All these were great, but still our hearts approve
Those simpler tokens of the Christian love;
'Twould give me joy some gracious deed to meet,
That has not call'd for glory through the street.
Who felt for many, could not always shun,
In some soft moment, to be kind to one;
And yet they tell us, when Sir Denys died,
That not a widow in the Borough sigh'd;
Great were his gifts, his mighty heart I own,
170
But why describe what all the world has known?
The rest is petty pride, the useless art
Of a vain mind to hide a swelling heart.
Small was his private room; men found him there
By a plain table, on a paltry chair;
A wretched floor-cloth, and some prints around,
The easy purchase of a single pound:
These humble trifles and that study small
Make a strong contrast with the servants' hall;
There barely comfort, here a proud excess,
180
The pompous seat of pamper'd idleness,
Where the sleek rogues with one consent declare,
They would not live upon his honour's fare.
He daily took but one half-hour to dine,
On one poor dish and some three sips of wine;
Then he'd abuse them for their sumptuous feasts,
And say, "My friends! you make yourselves like beasts;
One dish suffices any man to dine,
But you are greedy as a herd of swine;
Learn to be temperate."—Had they dared t' obey,
190
He would have praised and turn'd them all away.
Friends met Sir Denys riding in his ground,
And there the meekness of his spirit found:
For that grey coat, not new for many a year,
Hides all that would like decent dress appear;
An old brown pony 'twas his will to ride,
Who shuffled onward, and from side to side;
A five-pound purchase, but so fat and sleek,
His very plenty made the creature weak.
"Sir Denys Brand! and on so poor a steed!"—
200
"Poor! it may be—such things I never heed:"
And who that youth behind, of pleasant mien,
Equipp'd as one who wishes to be seen,
Upon a horse, twice victor for a plate,
A noble hunter, bought at dearest rate?—
Him the lad, fearing, yet resolved to guide,
He curbs his spirit, while he strokes his pride.
"A handsome youth, Sir Denys; and a horse
Of finer figure never trod thecourse—
Yours, without question?"—"Yes! I think, a groom
210
Bought me the beast; I cannot say the sum:
I ride him not, it is a foolish pride
Men have in cattle—but my people ride;
The boy is—hark ye, sirrah! what's your name?
Ay, Jacob, yes! I recollect—the same,
As I bethink me now, a tenant'sson—
I think a tenant—is your father one?"
There was an idle boy who ran about,
And found his master's humble spirit out;
He would at awful distance snatch a look,
220
Then run away and hide him in some nook;
"For oh!" quoth he, "I dare not fix my sight
On him, his grandeur puts me in a fright;
Oh! Mister Jacob, when you wait on him,
Do you not quake and tremble every limb?"
The steward soon had orders—"Summers, see
That Sam be clothed, and let him wait on me."
Sir Denys died, bequeathing all affairsIn trust to Laughton's long experienced cares,Before a guardian; and, Sir Denys dead,230All rule and power devolved upon his head.Numbers are call'd to govern, but in factOnly the powerful and assuming act.Laughton, too wise to be a dupe to fame,Cared not a whit of what descent he came,Till he was rich; he then conceived the thoughtTo fish for pedigree, but never caught.All his desire, when he was young and poor,Was to advance; he never cared for more:"Let me buy, sell, be factor, take a wife,240Take any road to get along in life."Was he a miser then? a robber? foeTo those who trusted? a deceiver?—No!He was ambitious; all his powers of mindWere to one end controll'd, improved, combined;Wit, learning, judgment, were, by his account,Steps for the ladder he design'd to mount.Such step was money: wealth was but his slave,For power he gain'd it, and for power he gave;Full well the Borough knows that he'd the art250Of bringing money to the surest mart;Friends too were aids, they led to certain ends,Increase of power and claim on other friends.A favourite step was marriage: then he gain'dSeat in our hall, and o'er his party reign'd;Houses and lands he bought, and long'd to buy,But never drew the springs of purchase dry;And thus at last they answer'd every call,The failing found him ready for their fall.He walks along the street, the mart, the quay,260And looks and mutters, "This belongs to me."}His passions all partook the general bent;}Interest inform'd him when he should resent,}How long resist, and on what terms relent.In points where he determined to succeed,In vain might reason or compassion plead;But gain'd his point, he was the best of men,'Twas loss of time to be vexatious then:Hence he was mild to all men whom he led,Of all who dared resist the scourge and dread.270Falsehood in him was not the useless lieOf boasting pride or laughing vanity;It was the gainful, the persuading art,That made its way and won the doubting heart,Which argued, soften'd, humbled, and prevail'd;Nor was it tried till ev'ry truth had fail'd;No sage on earth could more than he despiseDegrading, poor, unprofitable lies.Though fond of gain, and grieved by wanton waste,To social parties he had no distaste;280With one presiding purpose in his view,He sometimes could descend to trifle too!Yet, in these moments, he had still the artTo ope the looks and close the guarded heart;And, like the public host, has sometimes madeA grand repast, for which the guests have paid.At length, with power endued and wealthy grown,Frailties and passions, long suppressed, were shown;Then, to provoke him was a dangerous thing;His pride would punish, and his temper sting;290His powerful hatred sought th' avenging hour,And his proud vengeance struck with all hispower—Save when th' offender took a prudent wayThe rising storm of fury to allay.This might he do, and so in safety sleep,By largely casting to the angry deep;Or, better yet (its swelling force t' assuage,)By pouring oil of flattery on its rage.And now, of all the heart approved, possess'd,Fear'd, favour'd, follow'd, dreaded, and caress'd,300He gently yields to one mellifluous joy,The only sweet that is not found to cloy,Bland adulation! Other pleasures pallOn the sick taste, and transient are they all;But this one sweet has such enchanting power,The more we take, the faster we devour;Nauseous to those who must the dose apply,And most disgusting to the standers-by;Yet in all companies will Laughton feed,Nor care how grossly men perform the deed.310As gapes the nursling, or, what comes more near,Some Friendly-island chief, for hourlycheer—When wives and slaves, attending round his seat,Prepare by turns the masticated meat:So for this master, husband, parent, friend,His ready slaves their various efforts blend,And, to their lord still eagerly inclined,Pour the crude trash of a dependent mind.But let the muse assign the man his due;Worth he possess'd, nor were his virtuesfew;—320He sometimes help'd the injured in their cause;His power and purse have back'd the failing laws;He for religion has a due respect,And all his serious notions are correct;Although he pray'd and languished for a son,He grew resigned when Heaven denied him one;He never to this quiet mansion sendsSubject unfit, in compliment to friends.Not so Sir Denys, who would yet protestHe always chose the worthiest and the best:330Not men in trade by various loss brought down,But those whose glory once amazed the town;Who their last guinea in their pleasures spent,Yet never fell so low as to repent;To these his pity he could largely deal,Wealth they had known, and therefore want could feel.Three seats were vacant while Sir Denys reign'd,And three such favourites their admission gain'd;These let us view, still more to understandThe moral feelings of Sir Denys Brand.
Sir Denys died, bequeathing all affairs
In trust to Laughton's long experienced cares,
Before a guardian; and, Sir Denys dead,
230
All rule and power devolved upon his head.
Numbers are call'd to govern, but in fact
Only the powerful and assuming act.
Laughton, too wise to be a dupe to fame,
Cared not a whit of what descent he came,
Till he was rich; he then conceived the thought
To fish for pedigree, but never caught.
All his desire, when he was young and poor,
Was to advance; he never cared for more:
"Let me buy, sell, be factor, take a wife,
240
Take any road to get along in life."
Was he a miser then? a robber? foe
To those who trusted? a deceiver?—No!
He was ambitious; all his powers of mind
Were to one end controll'd, improved, combined;
Wit, learning, judgment, were, by his account,
Steps for the ladder he design'd to mount.
Such step was money: wealth was but his slave,
For power he gain'd it, and for power he gave;
Full well the Borough knows that he'd the art
250
Of bringing money to the surest mart;
Friends too were aids, they led to certain ends,
Increase of power and claim on other friends.
A favourite step was marriage: then he gain'd
Seat in our hall, and o'er his party reign'd;
Houses and lands he bought, and long'd to buy,
But never drew the springs of purchase dry;
And thus at last they answer'd every call,
The failing found him ready for their fall.
He walks along the street, the mart, the quay,
260
And looks and mutters, "This belongs to me."
}
His passions all partook the general bent;
}
Interest inform'd him when he should resent,
}
How long resist, and on what terms relent.
In points where he determined to succeed,
In vain might reason or compassion plead;
But gain'd his point, he was the best of men,
'Twas loss of time to be vexatious then:
Hence he was mild to all men whom he led,
Of all who dared resist the scourge and dread.
270
Falsehood in him was not the useless lie
Of boasting pride or laughing vanity;
It was the gainful, the persuading art,
That made its way and won the doubting heart,
Which argued, soften'd, humbled, and prevail'd;
Nor was it tried till ev'ry truth had fail'd;
No sage on earth could more than he despise
Degrading, poor, unprofitable lies.
Though fond of gain, and grieved by wanton waste,
To social parties he had no distaste;
280
With one presiding purpose in his view,
He sometimes could descend to trifle too!
Yet, in these moments, he had still the art
To ope the looks and close the guarded heart;
And, like the public host, has sometimes made
A grand repast, for which the guests have paid.
At length, with power endued and wealthy grown,
Frailties and passions, long suppressed, were shown;
Then, to provoke him was a dangerous thing;
His pride would punish, and his temper sting;
290
His powerful hatred sought th' avenging hour,
And his proud vengeance struck with all hispower—
Save when th' offender took a prudent way
The rising storm of fury to allay.
This might he do, and so in safety sleep,
By largely casting to the angry deep;
Or, better yet (its swelling force t' assuage,)
By pouring oil of flattery on its rage.
And now, of all the heart approved, possess'd,
Fear'd, favour'd, follow'd, dreaded, and caress'd,
300
He gently yields to one mellifluous joy,
The only sweet that is not found to cloy,
Bland adulation! Other pleasures pall
On the sick taste, and transient are they all;
But this one sweet has such enchanting power,
The more we take, the faster we devour;
Nauseous to those who must the dose apply,
And most disgusting to the standers-by;
Yet in all companies will Laughton feed,
Nor care how grossly men perform the deed.
310
As gapes the nursling, or, what comes more near,
Some Friendly-island chief, for hourlycheer—
When wives and slaves, attending round his seat,
Prepare by turns the masticated meat:
So for this master, husband, parent, friend,
His ready slaves their various efforts blend,
And, to their lord still eagerly inclined,
Pour the crude trash of a dependent mind.
But let the muse assign the man his due;
Worth he possess'd, nor were his virtuesfew;—
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He sometimes help'd the injured in their cause;
His power and purse have back'd the failing laws;
He for religion has a due respect,
And all his serious notions are correct;
Although he pray'd and languished for a son,
He grew resigned when Heaven denied him one;
He never to this quiet mansion sends
Subject unfit, in compliment to friends.
Not so Sir Denys, who would yet protest
He always chose the worthiest and the best:
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Not men in trade by various loss brought down,
But those whose glory once amazed the town;
Who their last guinea in their pleasures spent,
Yet never fell so low as to repent;
To these his pity he could largely deal,
Wealth they had known, and therefore want could feel.
Three seats were vacant while Sir Denys reign'd,
And three such favourites their admission gain'd;
These let us view, still more to understand
The moral feelings of Sir Denys Brand.
INHABITANTS OF THE ALMS-HOUSE.
BLANEY.