Chapter 32

Now, as these tricks and stratagems are known,

’Tis best, at once, the simple truth to own.

This was the husband - in an humble shed

He nightly slept, and daily sought his bread:

Once for relief the weary man applied;

“Your wife is rich,” the angry vestry cried:

Alas! he dared not to his wife complain,

Feeling her wrongs, and fearing her disdain:

By various methods he had tried to live,

But not one effort would subsistence give:

He was an usher in a school, till noise

Made him less able than the weaker boys;

On messages he went, till he in vain

Strove names, or words, or meanings to retain;

Each small employment in each neighbouring town,

By turn he took, to lay as quickly down:

For, such his fate, he fail’d in all he plann’d,

And nothing prosper’d in his luckless hand.

At his old home, his motive half suppress’d,

He sought no more for riches, but for rest:

There lived the bounteous Wife, and at her gate

He saw in cheerful groups the needy wait;

“Had he a right with bolder hope t’apply?”

He ask’d - was answer’d, and went groaning by:

For some remains of spirit, temper, pride,

Forbade a prayer he knew would be denied.

Thus was the grieving man, with burthen’d ass,

Seen day by day along the street to pass:

“Who is he, Susan? who the poor old man?

He never calls - do make him, if you can.”

The conscious damsel still delay’d to speak,

She stopp’d confused, and had her words to seek;

From Susan’s fears the fact her mistress knew,

And cried - “The wretch! what scheme has he in view?

Is this his lot? - but let him, let him feel -

Who wants the courage, not the will, to steal.”

A dreadful winter came, each day severe,

Misty when mild, and icy cold when clear;

And still the humble dealer took his load,

Returning slow, and shivering on the road:

The Lady, still relentless, saw him come,

And said - “I wonder, has the wretch a home?” -

“A hut! a hovel!”  “Then his fate appears

To suit his crime.” - “Yes, lady, not his years; -

No! nor his sufferings - nor that form decay’d.”

“Well! let the parish give its paupers aid:

You must the vileness of his acts allow.” -

“And you, dear lady, that he feels it now.”

“When such dissemblers on their deeds reflect,

Can they the pity they refused expect?

He that doth evil, evil shall he dread.” -

“The snow,” quoth Susan, “falls upon his bed -

It blows beside the thatch - it melts upon his head.”

“Tis weakness, child, for grieving guilt to feel.” -

“Yes, but he never sees a wholesome meal;

Through his bare dress appears his shrivell’d skin,

And ill he fares without, and worse within:

With that weak body, lame, diseased, and slow,

What cold, pain, peril, must the sufferer know!”

“Think on his crime.” - “Yes, sure ’twas very wrong;

But look (God bless him!) how he gropes along.”

“Brought me to shame.” - Oh! yes, I know it all -

What cutting blast! and he can scarcely crawl:

He freezes as he moves - he dies! if he should fall:

With cruel fierceness drives this icy sleet -

And must a Christian perish in the street,

In sight of Christians? - There! at last, he lies; -

Nor unsupported can he ever rise:

He cannot live.”  “But is he fit to die?” -

Here Susan softly mutter’d a reply,

Look’d round the room - said something of its state,

Dives the rich, and Lazarus at his gate;

And then aloud - “In pity do behold

The man affrighten’d, weeping, trembling, cold:

Oh! how those flakes of snow their entrance win

Through the poor rags, and keep the frost within.

His very heart seems frozen as he goes,

Leading that starved companion of his woes:

He tried to pray - his lips, I saw them move,

And he so turn’d his piteous looks above;

But the fierce wind the willing heart opposed,

And, ere he spoke, the lips in misery closed:

Poor suffering object! yes, for ease you pray’d,

And God will hear - He only, I’m afraid.”

“Peace! Susan, peace! pain ever follows sin.” -

“Ah! then,” thought Susan, “when will ours begin?

When reach’d his home, to what a cheerless fire

And chilling bed will those cold limbs retire!

Yet ragged, wretched as it is, that bed

Takes half the space of his contracted shed;

I saw the thorns beside the narrow grate,

With straw collected in a putrid state:

There will he, kneeling, strive the fire to raise,

And that will warm him, rather than the blaze:

The sullen, smoky blaze, that cannot last

One moment after his attempt is past;

And I so warmly and so purely laid,

To sink to rest - indeed, I am afraid.”

“Know you his conduct?” - “Yes, indeed I know,

And how he wanders in the wind and snow;

Safe in our rooms the threat’ning storm we hear,

But he feels strongly what we faintly fear.”

“Wilful was rich, and he the storm defied;

Wilful is poor, and must the storm abide,”

Said the stern Lady; “’tis in vain to feel;

Go and prepare the chicken for our meal.”

Susan her task reluctantly began,

And utter’d as she went - “The poor old man!”

But while her soft and ever-yielding heart

Made strong protest against her lady’s part,

The lady’s self began to think it wrong

To feel so wrathful and resent so long.

“No more the wretch would she receive again,

No more behold him - but she would sustain;

Great his offence, and evil was his mind -

But he had suffer’d, and she would be kind:

She spurn’d such baseness, and she found within

A fair acquittal from so foul a sin;

Yet she too err’d, and must of Heaven expect

To be rejected, him should she reject.”

Susan was summon’d - “I’m about to do

A foolish act, in part seduced by you;

Go to the creature - say that I intend,

Foe to his sins, to be his sorrow’s friend:

Take, for his present comforts, food and wine,

And mark his feelings at this act of mine:

Observe if shame be o’er his features spread,

By his own victim to be soothed and fed;

But, this inform him, that it is not love

That prompts my heart, that duties only move.

Say, that no merits in his favour plead,

But miseries only, and his abject need;

Nor bring me grov’ling thanks, nor high-flown praise;

I would his spirits, not his fancy, raise:

Give him no hope that I shall ever more

A man so vile to my esteem restore;

But warn him rather, that, in time of rest,

His crimes be all remember’d and confess’d:

I know not all that form the sinner’s debt,

But there is one that he must not forget.”

The mind of Susan prompted her with speed

To act her part in every courteous deed:

All that was kind she was prepared to say,

And keep the lecture for a future day;

When he had all life’s comforts by his side,

Pity might sleep, and good advice be tried.

This done, the mistress felt disposed to look,

As self-approving, on a pious book;

Yet, to her native bias still inclined,

She felt her act too merciful and kind;

But when, long musing on the chilling scene

So lately past - the frost and sleet so keen -

The man’s whole misery in a single view -

Yes! she could think some pity was his due.

Thus fix’d, she heard not her attendant glide

With soft slow step - till, standing by her side,

The trembling servant gasp’d for breath, and shed

Relieving tears, then utter’d, “He is dead!”

“Dead!” said the startled Lady. - “Yes, he fell

Close at the door where he was wont to dwell;

There his sole friend, the Ass, was standing by,

Half dead himself, to see his Master die.”

“Expired he then, good Heaven! for want of food?” -

“No! crusts and water in a corner stood: -

To have this plenty, and to wait so long,

And to be right too late, is doubly wrong:

Then, every day to see him totter by,

And to forbear - Oh! what a heart had I!”

“Blame me not, child; I tremble at the news.”

“Tis my own heart,” said Susan, “I accuse:

To have this money in my purse - to know

What grief was his, and what to grief we owe;

To see him often, always to conceive

How he must pine and languish, groan and grieve,

And every day in ease and peace to dine,

And rest in comfort! - What a heart is mine!”

TALE XVIII.

THE WAGER.

’Tis thought your deer doth hold you at a bay.

I choose her for myself;

If she and I are pleased, what’s that to you?

Let’s send each one to his wife,

And he whose wife is most obedient

Shall win the wager.

Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench,

I love her ten times more than e’er I did.

SHAKESPEARE, Taming of the Shrew.

-------------------------

Counter and Clubb were men in trade, whose pains,

Credit, and prudence, brought them constant gains;

Partners and punctual, every friend agreed

Counter and Clubb were men who must succeed.

When they had fix’d some little time in life,

Each thought of taking to himself a wife:

As men in trade alike, as men in love,

They seem’d with no according views to move;

As certain ores in outward view the same,

They show’d their difference when the magnet came.

Counter was vain: with spirit strong and high,

’Twas not in him like suppliant swain to sigh:

“His wife might o’er his men and maids preside,

And in her province be a judge and guide;

But what he thought, or did, or wish’d to do,

She must not know, or censure if she knew;

At home, abroad, by day, by night, if he

On aught determined, so it was to be:

How is a man,” he ask’d, “for business fit,

Who to a female can his will submit?

Absent a while, let no inquiring eye

Or plainer speech presume to question why:

But all be silent; and, when seen again,

Let all be cheerful - shall a wife complain?

Friends I invite, and who shall dare t’object,

Or look on them with coolness or neglect?

No! I must ever of my house be head,

And, thus obey’d, I condescend to wed.”

Clubb heard the speech - “My friend is nice, said he;

A wife with less respect will do for me:

How is he certain such a prize to gain?

What he approves, a lass may learn to feign,

And so affect t’obey till she begins to reign;

A while complying, she may vary then,

And be as wives of more unwary men;

Beside, to him who plays such lordly part,

How shall a tender creature yield her heart;

Should he the promised confidence refuse,

She may another more confiding choose;

May show her anger, yet her purpose hide,

And wake his jealousy, and wound his pride.

In one so humbled, who can trace the friend?

I on an equal, not a slave, depend;

If true, my confidence is wisely placed,

And being false, she only is disgraced.”

Clubb, with these notions, cast his eye around;

And one so easy soon a partner found.

The lady chosen was of good repute;

Meekness she had not, and was seldom mute;

Though quick to anger, still she loved to smile,

And would be calm if men would wait a while:

She knew her duty, and she loved her way,

More pleased in truth to govern than obey;

She heard her priest with reverence, and her spouse

As one who felt the pressure of her vows;

Useful and civil, all her friends confess’d -

Give her her way, and she would choose the best;

Though some indeed a sly remark would make -

Give it her not, and she would choose to take.

All this, when Clubb some cheerful months had spent,

He saw, confess’d, and said he was content.

Counter meantime selected, doubted, weigh’d,

And then brought home a young complying maid;

A tender creature, full of fears as charms,

A beauteous nursling from its mother’s arms;

A soft, sweet blossom, such as men must love,

But to preserve must keep it in the stove:

She had a mild, subdued, expiring look -

Raise but the voice, and this fair creature shook;

Leave her alone, she felt a thousand fears -

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