So many generations!... Many a time Poor master Edward, who is now a corpse, When but a child, would come to me and lead me Every body loved him. Such a fine, generous, open-hearted Youth! When he came home from school at holidays, How I rejoiced to see him! He was sure To come and ask of me what birds there were About my fields; and when I found a covey, There's not a testy Squire preserves his game More charily, than I have kept them safe For Master Edward. And he look'd so well Upon a fine sharp morning after them, His brown hair frosted, and his cheek so flush'd With such a wholesome ruddiness,.. ah, James, But he was sadly changed when he came down To keep his birth-day. JAMES. Changed! why, Gregory, 'Twas like a palsy to me, when he stepp'd When the Doctor sent him Abroad to try the air, it made me certain That all was over. There's but little hope, Methinks, that foreign parts can help a man When his own mother-country will not do. The last time he came down, these bells rung so I thought they would have rock'd the old steeple down; And now that dismal toll! I would have staid Beyond its reach, but this was a last duty: I am an old tenant of the family, Born on the estate, and now that I've outlived it, Have you heard ought of the new Squire ? 'Tis hid behind them now. GREGORY. Ay! now we see it, And there's the coaches following, we shall meet About the bridge. Would that this day were over! I wonder whose turn's next. JAMES. God above knows. When youth is summon'd what must age expect ! God make us ready, Gregory, when it comes! Westbury, 1799. Why for that Why, Sir, for that I've had my share; some sickness and some sorrow; Well will it be for them to know no worse. He always was a well-conditioned lad, Yet I had rather hear a daughter's knell Than her wedding-peal, Sir, if I thought her fate Promised no better things. TRAVELLER. Then is the girl A shrew, or else untidy?.. one to welcome Her husband with a rude unruly tongue? Or drive him from a foul and wretched home To look elsewhere for comfort? Is it so? WOMAN. She's notable enough; and as for temper TRAVELLER. Why Mistress, if they both are well inclined, Why should not both be happy? TRAVELLER. Sure, sure, good woman, You look upon the world with jaundiced eyes! All have their cares; those who are poor want wealth, They who have wealth want more; so are we all Dissatisfied, yet all live on, and each Has his own comforts. WOMAN. Sir! d'ye see that horse Turn'd out to common here by the way-side? He's high in bone, you may tell every rib Even at this distance. Mind him how he turns His head, to drive away the flies that feed On his gall'd shoulder! There's just grass enough To disappoint his whetted appetite. You see his comforts, Sir! TRAVELLER. A wretched beast! Hard labour and worse usage he endures But the lot of the poor Ay! idleness! the rich folks never fail For growing wants?.. Six years agone, these bells Lay down without one thought to keep me sleepless IX. THE ALDERMAN'S FUNERAL. STRANGER. WHOм are they ushering from the world, with all This pageantry and long parade of death? TOWNSMAN. A long parade, indeed, Sir, and yet here STRANGER. "Tis but a mournful sight, and yet the pomp Tempts me to stand a gazer. TOWNSMAN, Yonder schoolboy Who plays the truant, says the proclamation Of peace was nothing to the show; and even The chairing of the members at election Would not have been a finer sight than this; Only that red and green are prettier colours Than all this mourning. There, Sir, you behold One of the red-gown'd worthies of the city, The envy and the boast of our exchange; .. Ay, what was worth, last week, a good half-million, Screw'd down in yonder hearse! STRANGER. Then he was born Under a lucky planet, who to-day Puts mourning on for his inheritance. TOWNSMAN. When first I heard his death, that very wish Leapt to my lips; but now the closing scene Of the comedy hath waken'd wiser thoughts; And I bless God, that, when I go to the grave, There will not be the weight of wealth like his To sink me down. STRANGER. The camel and the needle,. . . Is that then in your mind? watches gradually disappeared, and their Sunday's clothes became common without any other to supply their place,.. but," said he, "some good comes from this, for they will then work for whatever they can get." Note to Cottle's Malvern Hills. TOWNSMAN. Now, Sir, you touch Upon the point. This man of half a million Had all these public virtues which you praise: But the poor man rung never at his door, And the old beggar, at the public gate, Who, all the summer long, stands hat in hand, He knew how vain it was to lift an eye To that hard face. Yet he was always found Among your ten and twenty pound subscribers, Your benefactors in the newspapers His alms were money put to interest In the other world, . . donations to keep open In the preaching mood! But for these barren fig-trees, Retaining fees against the Last Assizes, With all their flourish and their leafiness, Undone; .. for sins, not one of which is written STRANGER. You knew him then it seems? TOWNSMAN, As all men know The virtues of your hundred-thousanders; They never hide their lights beneath a bushel. STRANGER. Nay, nay, uncharitable Sir! for often TOWNSMAN. We track the streamlet by the brighter green STRANGER. Yet even these Are reservoirs whence public charity Still keeps her channels full. .. When, for the trusted talents, strict account STRANGER. I must needs Believe you, Sir: .. these are your witnesses, These mourners here, who from their carriages Gape at the gaping crowd. A good March wind Were to be pray'd for now, to lend their eyes Some decent rheum; the very hireling mute Bears not a face more blank of all emotion Than the old servant of the family! How can this man have lived, that thus his death Costs not the soiling one white handkerchief! TOWNSMAN. Who should lament for him, Sir, in whose heart When yet he was a boy, and should have breathed STRANGER. Yet your next newspapers will blazon him For industry and honourable wealth A bright example. TOWNSMAN. Even half a million [ten; Gets him no other praise. But come this way Faith with her torch beside, and little Cupids Bristol, 1803. NONDESCRIPTS. I. WRITTEN THE WINTER AFTER THE INSTALLATION AT OXFORD. 1793, TOLL on, toll on, old Bell! I'll neither pass And study here devoutly: . not my Euclid, .. I'll study thee, Puss! Not to make a picture, Applauded to the very Galleries That did applaud again, whose thunder-claps, Tee-ti-tum'd, in Miltonic blank bemouth'd; Prose, verse, Greek, Latin, English, rhyme and blank, Till Eulogy, with all her wealth of words, Though I can poetize right willingly, Puss, on thy well-streak'd coat, to that Fur-gown What a power there is The statute was not made for Cats like thee; Thou art as playful as young Innocence; But if we act the governor, and break The social compact, Nature gave those claws And taught thee how to use them. Man, methinks, Master and slave alike, might learn from thee A salutary lesson: but the one Abuses wickedly his power unjust, The other crouches spaniel-like, and licks I look at thee, familiarised, yet free; II. SNUFF. A DELICATE pinch! oh how it tingles up Of joy. The summer gale that from the heath, What are Peru and those Golcondan mines Think what the general joy the snuff-box gives, M |