WOMAN!

Quondam ridentes oculi, nunc fonte perenniDeplorant pœnas nocte dieque suas.Corn.Galli Eleg.

MAGISTRATECome, now again thy Woes impart,Tell all thy Sorrows, all thy Sin;We cannot heal the throbbing Heart,Till we discern the Wounds within.Compunction weeps our Guilt away,The Sinner’s Safety is his Pain;Such Pangs for our Offences pay,And these severer Griefs are Gain.VAGRANT.The Son came back—he found us wed,Then dreadful was the Oath he swore;—His Way throughBlackburnForest led,—His Father we beheld no more.Of all our daring Clan, not one,Would on the doubtful Subject dwell;For all esteem’d the injur’d Son,And fear’d the Tale, which he could tell.But I had mightier Cause for Fear,For slow and mournful round my Bed,I saw a dreadful Form appear,—It came when I and Aaron wed.(Yes! we were wed, I know my Crime,—We slept beneath the Elmin Tree;But I was grieving all the time,And Aaron frown’d my Tears to see.For he not yet had felt the Pain,That rankles in a wounded Breast;He wak’d to Sin, then slept again,Forsook hisGod, yet took his Rest.—But I was forc’d to feign Delight,And Joy in Mirth and Music sought,—And Mem’ry now recalls the Night,With such Surprise and Horror fraught,That Reason felt a moment’s Flight,And left a Mind, to Madness wrought.)When waking, on my heaving Breast,I felt a Hand as cold as Death;A sudden Fear my Voice suppress’d,A chilling Terror stopp’d my Breath.—I seem’d—no Words can utter how!For there my Father-Husband stood,—And thus he said:—“WillGodallow,“The great Avenger, just and good,“A Wife, to break her Marriage Vow?“A Son, to shed his Father’s Blood?”I trembled at the dismal Sounds,But vainly strove a Word to say;So, pointing to his bleeding Wounds,[19]The threat’ning Spectre stalk’d away.I brought a lovely Daughter forth,His Father’s Child, in Aaron’s Bed;He took her from me in his wrath,“Where is my Child?”—‘Thy Child is dead.’’Twas false—we wander’d far and wide,Through Town and Country, Field and Fen,Till Aaron fighting, fell and died,And I became a Wife again.I then was young:—my Husband soldMy fancied Charms, for wicked Price;He gave me oft, for sinful Gold,The Slave, but not the Friend of Vice:—Behold me Heav’n! my Pains behold,And let them for my Sins suffice!The Wretch who lent me thus for Gain,Despis’d me when my Youth was fled;Then came Disease and brought me Pain:—Come, Death, and bear me to the Dead!For though I grieve, my Grief is vain,And fruitless all the Tears I shed.True, I was not to Virtue train’d,Yet well I knew my Deeds were ill;By each Offence my Heart was pain’d,I wept, but I offended still;My better Thoughts my Life disdain’d,But yet the viler led my Will.My Husband died, and now no more,My Smile was sought or ask’d my Hand,A widow’d Vagrant, vile and poor,Beneath a Vagrant’s vile command.Ceaseless I rov’d the Country round,To win my Bread by fraudful Arts,And long a poor Subsistence found,By spreading Nets for simple Hearts.Though poor, and abject, and despis’d,Their Fortunes to the Crowd I told;I gave the Young the Love they priz’d,And promis’d Wealth to bless the Old;Schemes for the Doubtful I devis’d,And Charms for the Forsaken sold.At length for Arts like these confin’d,In Prison with a lawless Crew;I soon perceiv’d a kindred Mind,And there my long-lost Daughter knew.His Father’s Child, whom Aaron gaveTo wander with a distant Clan,The Miseries of the World to brave,And be the Slave of Vice and Man.She knew my Name—we met in Pain,Our parting Pangs, can I express?She sail’d a Convict o’er the Main,And left an Heir to her Distress.This is that Heir to Shame and Pain,For whom I only could descryA World of Trouble and Disdain:Yet, could I bear to see her die,Or stretch her feeble Hands in vain,And weeping, beg of me Supply?No! though the Fate thy Mother knew,Was shameful! shameful though thy RaceHave wander’d all, a lawless Crew,Outcasts, despis’d in every Place;Yet as the dark and muddy Tide,When far from its polluted Source,Becomes more pure, and purified,Flows in a clear and happy Course;—In thee, dear Infant! so may endOur Shame, in thee our Sorrows cease!And thy pure Course will then extend,In Floods of Joy, o’er Vales of Peace.Oh! by the God who loves to spare,Deny me not the Boon I crave;Let this lov’d Child your Mercy share,And let me find a peaceful Grave;Make her yet spotless Soul your Care,And let my Sins their Portion have,Her for a better Fate prepare,And punish whom ’twere Sin to save!MAGISTRATE.Recall the Word, renounce the Thought,Command thy Heart and bend thy Knee,There is to all a Pardon brought,A Ransom rich, assur’d and free;’Tis full when found, ’tis found if sought,Oh! seek it, till ’tis seal’d to Thee.VAGRANT.But how my Pardon shall I know?MAGISTRATE.By feeling Dread that ’tis not sent,By Tears for Sin that freely flow,By Grief, that all thy Tears are spent,By Thoughts on that great Debt we owe,With all the MercyGodhas lent,By suffering what thou canst not show,Yet showing how thine Heart is rent,Till thou canst feel thy Bosom glow,And say, “My Saviour, I repent!”

MAGISTRATE

Come, now again thy Woes impart,Tell all thy Sorrows, all thy Sin;We cannot heal the throbbing Heart,Till we discern the Wounds within.

Compunction weeps our Guilt away,The Sinner’s Safety is his Pain;Such Pangs for our Offences pay,And these severer Griefs are Gain.

VAGRANT.

The Son came back—he found us wed,Then dreadful was the Oath he swore;—His Way throughBlackburnForest led,—His Father we beheld no more.

Of all our daring Clan, not one,Would on the doubtful Subject dwell;For all esteem’d the injur’d Son,And fear’d the Tale, which he could tell.

But I had mightier Cause for Fear,For slow and mournful round my Bed,I saw a dreadful Form appear,—It came when I and Aaron wed.

(Yes! we were wed, I know my Crime,—We slept beneath the Elmin Tree;But I was grieving all the time,And Aaron frown’d my Tears to see.

For he not yet had felt the Pain,That rankles in a wounded Breast;He wak’d to Sin, then slept again,Forsook hisGod, yet took his Rest.—

But I was forc’d to feign Delight,And Joy in Mirth and Music sought,—And Mem’ry now recalls the Night,With such Surprise and Horror fraught,That Reason felt a moment’s Flight,And left a Mind, to Madness wrought.)

When waking, on my heaving Breast,I felt a Hand as cold as Death;A sudden Fear my Voice suppress’d,A chilling Terror stopp’d my Breath.—

I seem’d—no Words can utter how!For there my Father-Husband stood,—And thus he said:—“WillGodallow,“The great Avenger, just and good,“A Wife, to break her Marriage Vow?“A Son, to shed his Father’s Blood?”

I trembled at the dismal Sounds,But vainly strove a Word to say;So, pointing to his bleeding Wounds,[19]The threat’ning Spectre stalk’d away.

I brought a lovely Daughter forth,His Father’s Child, in Aaron’s Bed;He took her from me in his wrath,“Where is my Child?”—‘Thy Child is dead.’

’Twas false—we wander’d far and wide,Through Town and Country, Field and Fen,Till Aaron fighting, fell and died,And I became a Wife again.

I then was young:—my Husband soldMy fancied Charms, for wicked Price;He gave me oft, for sinful Gold,The Slave, but not the Friend of Vice:—Behold me Heav’n! my Pains behold,And let them for my Sins suffice!

The Wretch who lent me thus for Gain,Despis’d me when my Youth was fled;Then came Disease and brought me Pain:—Come, Death, and bear me to the Dead!For though I grieve, my Grief is vain,And fruitless all the Tears I shed.

True, I was not to Virtue train’d,Yet well I knew my Deeds were ill;By each Offence my Heart was pain’d,I wept, but I offended still;My better Thoughts my Life disdain’d,But yet the viler led my Will.

My Husband died, and now no more,My Smile was sought or ask’d my Hand,A widow’d Vagrant, vile and poor,Beneath a Vagrant’s vile command.

Ceaseless I rov’d the Country round,To win my Bread by fraudful Arts,And long a poor Subsistence found,By spreading Nets for simple Hearts.

Though poor, and abject, and despis’d,Their Fortunes to the Crowd I told;I gave the Young the Love they priz’d,And promis’d Wealth to bless the Old;Schemes for the Doubtful I devis’d,And Charms for the Forsaken sold.

At length for Arts like these confin’d,In Prison with a lawless Crew;I soon perceiv’d a kindred Mind,And there my long-lost Daughter knew.

His Father’s Child, whom Aaron gaveTo wander with a distant Clan,The Miseries of the World to brave,And be the Slave of Vice and Man.

She knew my Name—we met in Pain,Our parting Pangs, can I express?She sail’d a Convict o’er the Main,And left an Heir to her Distress.

This is that Heir to Shame and Pain,For whom I only could descryA World of Trouble and Disdain:Yet, could I bear to see her die,Or stretch her feeble Hands in vain,And weeping, beg of me Supply?

No! though the Fate thy Mother knew,Was shameful! shameful though thy RaceHave wander’d all, a lawless Crew,Outcasts, despis’d in every Place;

Yet as the dark and muddy Tide,When far from its polluted Source,Becomes more pure, and purified,Flows in a clear and happy Course;—In thee, dear Infant! so may endOur Shame, in thee our Sorrows cease!And thy pure Course will then extend,In Floods of Joy, o’er Vales of Peace.

Oh! by the God who loves to spare,Deny me not the Boon I crave;Let this lov’d Child your Mercy share,And let me find a peaceful Grave;Make her yet spotless Soul your Care,And let my Sins their Portion have,Her for a better Fate prepare,And punish whom ’twere Sin to save!

MAGISTRATE.

Recall the Word, renounce the Thought,Command thy Heart and bend thy Knee,There is to all a Pardon brought,A Ransom rich, assur’d and free;’Tis full when found, ’tis found if sought,Oh! seek it, till ’tis seal’d to Thee.

VAGRANT.

But how my Pardon shall I know?

MAGISTRATE.

By feeling Dread that ’tis not sent,By Tears for Sin that freely flow,By Grief, that all thy Tears are spent,By Thoughts on that great Debt we owe,With all the MercyGodhas lent,By suffering what thou canst not show,Yet showing how thine Heart is rent,Till thou canst feel thy Bosom glow,And say, “My Saviour, I repent!”

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Mr. Ledyard, as quoted byM. Parke, in hisTravels into Africk.

“To a Woman I never addressed myself in the language of decency and friendship, without receiving a decent and friendly answer. If I was hungry or thirsty, wet or sick, they did not hesitate, like Men, to perform a generous action: In so free and kind a manner did they contribute to my relief, that if I was dry, I drank the sweetest draught; and if hungry, I ate the coarsest morsel with a double relish.”

Placethe White-Man on Africk’s Coast,Whose swarthy Sons in Blood delight,Who of their Scorn to Europe boast,And paint their very Dæmons white:There while the sterner Sex disdainsTo soothe the Woes, they cannot feel;Woman will strive to heal his Pains,And weep for those, she cannot heal:Hers is warm Pity’s sacred Glow;From all her Stores, she bears a Part,And bids the Spring of Hope re-flow,That languish’d in the fainting Heart.“What though so pale his haggard Face,“So sunk and sad his Looks,”—she cries;“And far unlike our nobler Race,“With crisped Locks and rolling Eyes;“Yet Misery marks him of our Kind,“We see him lost, alone, afraid;“And Pangs of Body, Griefs in Mind,“Pronounce him Man and ask our Aid.“Perhaps in some far distant Shore,“There are who in these Forms delight;“Whose milky Features please them more,“Than ours of Jet thus burnish’d bright;“Of such may be his weeping Wife,“Such Children for their Sire may call,“And if we spare his ebbing Life,“Our Kindness may preserve them all.”Thus her Compassion Woman shows,Beneath the Line her Acts are these;Nor the wide Waste of Lapland-Snows,Can her warm Flow of Pity freeze:—“From some sad Land the Stranger comes,“Where Joys, like ours, are never found;“Let’s soothe him in our happy Homes,“Where Freedom sits, with Plenty crown’d.“’Tis good the fainting Soul to cheer,“To see the famish’d Stranger fed;“To milk for him the Mother-Deer,“To smooth for him the furry Bed.“The Powers above, our Lapland bless,“With Good no other People know;“T’ enlarge the Joys that we possess,“By feeling those that we bestow!”Thus in Extremes of Cold and Heat,Where wandering Man may trace his Kind;Where-ever Grief and Want retreat,In Woman they Compassion find;She makes the Female Breast her Seat,And dictates Mercy to the Mind.Man may the sterner Virtues know,Determin’d Justice, Truth severe:But Female Hearts with Pity glow,And Woman holds Affliction dear;For guiltless Woes her Sorrows flow,And suffering Vice compels her Tear;’Tis her’s to soothe the Ills below,And bid Life’s fairer Views appear;To Woman’s gentle Kind we owe,What comforts and delights us here;They its gay Hopes on Youth bestow,And Care they soothe and Age they cheer.

“What though so pale his haggard Face,“So sunk and sad his Looks,”—she cries;“And far unlike our nobler Race,“With crisped Locks and rolling Eyes;“Yet Misery marks him of our Kind,“We see him lost, alone, afraid;“And Pangs of Body, Griefs in Mind,“Pronounce him Man and ask our Aid.

“Perhaps in some far distant Shore,“There are who in these Forms delight;“Whose milky Features please them more,“Than ours of Jet thus burnish’d bright;“Of such may be his weeping Wife,“Such Children for their Sire may call,“And if we spare his ebbing Life,“Our Kindness may preserve them all.”

Thus her Compassion Woman shows,Beneath the Line her Acts are these;Nor the wide Waste of Lapland-Snows,Can her warm Flow of Pity freeze:—“From some sad Land the Stranger comes,“Where Joys, like ours, are never found;“Let’s soothe him in our happy Homes,“Where Freedom sits, with Plenty crown’d.

“’Tis good the fainting Soul to cheer,“To see the famish’d Stranger fed;“To milk for him the Mother-Deer,“To smooth for him the furry Bed.“The Powers above, our Lapland bless,“With Good no other People know;“T’ enlarge the Joys that we possess,“By feeling those that we bestow!”

Thus in Extremes of Cold and Heat,Where wandering Man may trace his Kind;Where-ever Grief and Want retreat,In Woman they Compassion find;She makes the Female Breast her Seat,And dictates Mercy to the Mind.

Man may the sterner Virtues know,Determin’d Justice, Truth severe:But Female Hearts with Pity glow,And Woman holds Affliction dear;For guiltless Woes her Sorrows flow,And suffering Vice compels her Tear;’Tis her’s to soothe the Ills below,And bid Life’s fairer Views appear;To Woman’s gentle Kind we owe,What comforts and delights us here;They its gay Hopes on Youth bestow,And Care they soothe and Age they cheer.

FINIS.

Printed by Brettell and Co.Marshall-Street, Golden-Square.

FOOTNOTES:[1]See the Life of S. Johnson, by Boswell, vol. iv. p. 185 8vo. edit.[2]Neither of these were adopted; the Author had written, about that time, some Verses to the memory of LordRobert Manners, Brother to the late Duke ofRutland; and these, by a junction, it is presumed, not forced or unnatural, form the concluding part of theVillage.[3]See Page 77.[4]A pauper who, being nearly past his labour, is employed by different masters, for a length of time proportioned to their occupations.[5]Some apology is due for the insertion of a circumstance by no means common: That it has been a subject for complaint in any place, is a sufficient reason for its being reckoned among the evils which may happen to the Poor, and which must happen to them exclusively; nevertheless, it is just to remark, that such neglect is very rare in any part of the kingdom, and in many parts is totally unknown.[6]LordRobert Manners, the youngest son of the Marquis of Granby and the Lady Frances Seymour, daughter of Charles Duke of Somerset, was born the 5th of February, 1758; and was placed with his brother, the late Duke of Rutland, at Eton-School, where he acquired, and ever after retained, a considerable knowledge of the classical authors.LordRobert, after going through the duties of his profession on-board different ships, was made Captain of theResolution, and commanded her in nine different actions, besides that last memorable one on the 2d of April, 1782, when, in breaking the French Line of Battle, he received the wounds which terminated his life, in the 24th year of his age.See the Annual Register, printed for Mr. Dodsley.[7]Allusions of this kind are to be found in the Fairy-Queen. See the end of the first book, and other places.[8]Clarissa, vol. vii. Lovelace’s Letter.[9]Spencer.[10]See page 52.[11]In the more antient Libraries, Works of value and importance were fastened to their places by a length of chain; and might so be perused, but not taken away.[12]The Manna of the Day. Green’s Spleen.[13]—— in foliis descripsit carmina Virgo;——— et teneres turbavit janua frondes.Virg.Æneid. lib. iii.[14]How many hours bring about the day.How many days will furnish up the year,How many years a mortal Man may live; &c.Shakspeare’s Henry VI.[15]“Myrica Gale,” a shrub growing in boggy and fenny grounds.[16]Prophecy of Daniel, chap. iv. 22.[17]Vide Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress[18]It has been suggested to me, that this change from restlessness to repose, in the mind of SirEustace, is wrought by a methodistic call; and it is admitted to be such: a sober and rational conversion, could not have happened while the disorder of the brain continued: Yet the verses which follow, in a different measure, are not intended to make any religious Persuasion appear ridiculous; they are to be supposed as the effect of memory in the disordered mind of the speaker, and though evidently enthusiastic, in respect to language, are not meant to convey any impropriety of sentiment.[19]The state of mind here described, will account for a vision of this nature, without having recourse to any supernatural appearance.

FOOTNOTES:

[1]See the Life of S. Johnson, by Boswell, vol. iv. p. 185 8vo. edit.

[2]Neither of these were adopted; the Author had written, about that time, some Verses to the memory of LordRobert Manners, Brother to the late Duke ofRutland; and these, by a junction, it is presumed, not forced or unnatural, form the concluding part of theVillage.

[3]See Page 77.

[4]A pauper who, being nearly past his labour, is employed by different masters, for a length of time proportioned to their occupations.

[5]Some apology is due for the insertion of a circumstance by no means common: That it has been a subject for complaint in any place, is a sufficient reason for its being reckoned among the evils which may happen to the Poor, and which must happen to them exclusively; nevertheless, it is just to remark, that such neglect is very rare in any part of the kingdom, and in many parts is totally unknown.

[6]LordRobert Manners, the youngest son of the Marquis of Granby and the Lady Frances Seymour, daughter of Charles Duke of Somerset, was born the 5th of February, 1758; and was placed with his brother, the late Duke of Rutland, at Eton-School, where he acquired, and ever after retained, a considerable knowledge of the classical authors.LordRobert, after going through the duties of his profession on-board different ships, was made Captain of theResolution, and commanded her in nine different actions, besides that last memorable one on the 2d of April, 1782, when, in breaking the French Line of Battle, he received the wounds which terminated his life, in the 24th year of his age.See the Annual Register, printed for Mr. Dodsley.

LordRobert, after going through the duties of his profession on-board different ships, was made Captain of theResolution, and commanded her in nine different actions, besides that last memorable one on the 2d of April, 1782, when, in breaking the French Line of Battle, he received the wounds which terminated his life, in the 24th year of his age.

See the Annual Register, printed for Mr. Dodsley.

[7]Allusions of this kind are to be found in the Fairy-Queen. See the end of the first book, and other places.

[8]Clarissa, vol. vii. Lovelace’s Letter.

[9]Spencer.

[10]See page 52.

[11]In the more antient Libraries, Works of value and importance were fastened to their places by a length of chain; and might so be perused, but not taken away.

[12]The Manna of the Day. Green’s Spleen.

[13]—— in foliis descripsit carmina Virgo;——— et teneres turbavit janua frondes.Virg.Æneid. lib. iii.

[13]

—— in foliis descripsit carmina Virgo;——— et teneres turbavit janua frondes.Virg.Æneid. lib. iii.

[14]How many hours bring about the day.How many days will furnish up the year,How many years a mortal Man may live; &c.Shakspeare’s Henry VI.

[14]

How many hours bring about the day.How many days will furnish up the year,How many years a mortal Man may live; &c.Shakspeare’s Henry VI.

[15]“Myrica Gale,” a shrub growing in boggy and fenny grounds.

[16]Prophecy of Daniel, chap. iv. 22.

[17]Vide Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress

[18]It has been suggested to me, that this change from restlessness to repose, in the mind of SirEustace, is wrought by a methodistic call; and it is admitted to be such: a sober and rational conversion, could not have happened while the disorder of the brain continued: Yet the verses which follow, in a different measure, are not intended to make any religious Persuasion appear ridiculous; they are to be supposed as the effect of memory in the disordered mind of the speaker, and though evidently enthusiastic, in respect to language, are not meant to convey any impropriety of sentiment.

[19]The state of mind here described, will account for a vision of this nature, without having recourse to any supernatural appearance.

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