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 PROFESSIONAL POEMS, 
 
 13 p a livoft smonai (Gentleman* 
 
 Lusus animo debent aliquando dari 
 Ad cogitanduiu melior ut redeat sibi, 
 
 Phcedrus. 
 
 Arcum intensio frangit. 
 
 Ter. 
 
 Blithe Recreation, sometimes, ought 
 To free the miud from anxious thought ; 
 That, with re-doubled strength, it may 
 Its meditative powers display : 
 Else, like th' elastic Bow, though strong, 
 If always bent, will bieak ere long. 
 
 Flet, se flere; gaudet, gaudere coactus. 
 
 Lucan. 
 
 Weep, Reader ! if thou wilt ; or let the smile 
 Beam on the Book, that wou'd thy cares beguile. 
 
 THE PROFESSIONS CHIEFLY ALLUDED TO 
 
 ARE THOSE OF 
 
 LAW, PHYSIC, DIVINITY, AND ARMS. 
 
 WOLVERHAMPTON : 
 
 PRINTED BY J. SMART, CHRONICLE-OFFICE, 
 
 FOR LONGMAN, REES, AND CO.; SIMPKIN AND MARSHALL; BALDWIN AND 
 CO. ; AND G. B. WHITAKER, LONDON. 
 
 1827.
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 Prefatory Dialogue v 
 
 Supplicatory Dedication ix 
 
 The Disputed Peg 1 
 
 The Hypochondriac 10 
 
 The Dutch Preacher 44 
 
 The Galligaskins 48 
 
 The Disinterested Comforters 62 
 
 The Despotic Pedagogue 66 
 
 The Noble-minded Soldier 74 
 
 The Liar 82 
 
 The Beggars : an Eclogue 87 
 
 The Beggars : Eclogue the Second 93 
 
 Notes 105 

 
 ERRATA. 
 
 Expunge the two lines, 5 and C from the bottom, in page 32, 
 
 " Nor here do all the mercies close 
 Of Him from whom each mercy flows." 
 
 Page 91, line 7 from bottom, for " strife" read " strike."
 
 PREFATORY DIALOGUE, 
 
 BETWEEN ONE OF THE PEOPLE CALLED QUAKERS AND 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 FRIEND. 
 
 Here, friend Nathan, are thy written Poems : the whole 
 of which I have perused, although to some particular ones 
 my attention was alone requested. For the partial opinion 
 thou art pleased to entertain of my literary judgment in 
 these matters, I thank thee ; and, as thou hast condescended 
 to ask it, I will candidly declare it. — Imprimis, why is the 
 compositor, or setter of types, to stay his hand at the piece, 
 to which hath been affixed by thee the well-known closing 
 token, Finis ? Secondly, concerning the unfavoured pieces 
 in thy Album, wherefore are they dishonoured by the ban of 
 exclusion ? Being equal in merit (si licet componere, fyc.) 
 with their more favoured companions, why they are to be 
 withheld, 1 cannot imagine. 
 
 AUTHOR. 
 
 Then I will tell you. They are intended to be withheld, 
 from prudential motives. The taste of the Public is fasti- 
 dious, — perhaps judiciously so; and I have not the vanity 
 to presume that the inspirations of my Muse will be honoured 
 with publir approval — 
 
 b
 
 VI 
 
 FRIEND. 
 
 Pardon my interrupting thee — for " inspirations of thy 
 Muse," say, productions of thy pen, or effusions of thy 
 mind. Ignosce et perge. 
 
 AUTHOR. 
 
 I had nearly done, when you clipped the wings of my 
 aerial Muse, who, with the precipitous descent of Icarus, 
 has now fallen to the earth ; and having survived the fall, 
 will henceforth be content to talk as soberly and discreetly as 
 yourself. — I was just going to observe that, with the prudent 
 caution of a young merchant, who deems it unwise to ship 
 off much at one venture, I mean to send those marked pieces 
 forth into the world, to seek their fortunes : that is, in 
 plain prose, they are selected as specimens. If not liked, 
 the specimens are sufficiently numerous ; if approved, the 
 remainder may follow. 
 
 FRIEND. 
 
 Modesty and humility become every one, and more espe- 
 cially a poet, whose frequent intercourse with imaginary 
 divinities is too apt to make him hold in light estimation 
 the sedate, though enlightened judgment of mortals. 1 
 therefore will not combat thy prudential argument, but only 
 express a hope that the merchandise of Parnassus (to use 
 thy own figurative language) which thou art about to adven- 
 ture upon the sea of Uncertainty, will so far be approved hy 
 that Public, whose good-will thou art thus laudably anxious 
 to obtain, that a desire will soon be manifested to receive 
 other wares of a similar kind. And yet, though children ot 
 the same parent, they are not all of a similar kind. As is 
 often the case in a human family, notwithstanding certain 
 traits of kindred resemblance, several of the other pieces
 
 Vll 
 
 are very different. The favoured ones are laughing littlt 
 ones, calculated to make those who trifle with them laugh 
 also. The others (with a few exceptions) which the shyness 
 of their parent is disposed to keep back, partake of his 
 timidity, and are more inclined to remain concealed in the 
 privacy of retirement, than to flaunt abroad in the world. 
 They are, for the most part, pensive little ones, whose artless 
 tales will " make the heart better," by awakening its ten- 
 derest sensibilities. — To thy " statute of limitations," there- 
 fore, although, for the present, I do not positively object, 
 yet 1 by no means concur in so strict a sense, as what thou 
 hast prescribed for thyself. 
 
 AUTHOR. 
 
 Then I must alter the Title Page, for that, you see, 
 limits the present pieces to Professions; and yet, by so 
 doing, I am not aware that Interest will be limited among 
 general readers. For, who does not observe the general 
 Public to be as much alive about what concerns a Lawyer, — ■ 
 a Clergyman,— a Physician,— or a Soldier, as it is about 
 one in any other rank of society ? 
 
 FRIEND. 
 
 To quote from a Play-book, Nathan, " Thou reason'st 
 well," and 1 do not mean to gainsay thy reasoning. Keep, 
 for the present, within the pale of Professions ; but widen 
 the confines a little, so as to admit into thy pages, at least, 
 four additional lucubrations of thy Fancy, appertaining to 
 three Professions, which, by the supposed strictness of thy 
 imperative Statute, are now thought by thee to be excluded. 
 
 AUTHOR. 
 
 I really cannot guess the pieces jou would add, nor sur- 
 mise to what species of Professors vou allude. 
 
 I. 2
 
 \"1 11 
 
 FRIEND. 
 
 I am sure thou dost not, or The disinterested Professor 
 of Friendship, — The brazen Professor of Falsehood, — The 
 despotic Professor of School-teaching, — and, lastly, the 
 most crafty of all Professors, Beggars, would not have had 
 an exclusive mark of reprobation placed against them. If 
 my authorized advice be taken, as Printers say, thou wilt 
 dele the word Finis where it now stands, and transfer it 
 to the end of the Notes — the important Notes, which are ap- 
 pended to the two Eclogues, entituled The Beggars. 
 
 AUTHOR. 
 
 It shall be done, my good friend ; and then you will think, 
 perhaps, that my honest Bookseller, in these critical times 
 of " the Trade," may reasonably add another sixpence to 
 the price of the volume. 
 
 FRIEND. 
 
 Yea, verily, I do think he may. I would not murmur 
 were it a shilling. Farewell.
 
 IX 
 
 SUPPLICATORY DEDICATION 
 STo UJljom it map c once rtt, 
 
 AND WHOM THE AUTHOR IS MUCH CONCERNED TO PLEASE. 
 
 Critic Reader! kindly look 
 On this unambitious book, 
 Not with eagle-searching' eye, 
 Blemishes alone to spy. 
 For when thou (aloof from Town, 
 Seated in thy flowing- gown, 
 After various dining--cheer, 
 Of which Authors only hear) 
 Art, by it, beguil'd of sleep, 
 Moving* thee, perchance, to weep ; 
 Or, while ruby wine thou quaff, 
 Tickling thee, perchance, to laugh-
 
 Say, " Its writer's slender wit 
 
 " Has the Public Fancy hit, 
 
 " Oiling" Life's old rusty wheels, 
 
 " Causing* them to run like eels." 
 
 Say, " The Aged and the Young 
 
 " Will, the varied lays among-, 
 
 " Something never fail to find 
 
 " Suited to their taste and mind ; 
 
 " Nor the Serious or the Gay 
 
 " Will its cost deem thrown away : 
 
 " For, tho' Satire's lays he sing, 
 
 " Yet no bitter pois'nous sting 
 
 " Lies beneath his playful verses, 
 
 " While men's foibles he rehearses.*" 
 
 Such Critique, thus courteous spoken, 
 Will, O Sage! a valued Token 
 Ever, i/*vouchsaf'd by Thee, 
 By thy Suppliant, treasur'd be. 
 For, 'tis now his modest aim, 
 Heedless of alluring Fame, 
 On his Pegasus, at ease, 
 Ambling on, himself to please, 
 Just as wayward whim may choose, 
 With his playful Sweetheart Muse 
 
 * Non ego mordaci distrinxi carmiue (juinriuain 
 Nulla venenata est Htera misla joco. 
 
 Ovid.
 
 XI 
 
 Seated, smiling 1 , by his side, 
 Happy, as she were his bride. 
 Many a nook will he explore, 
 Undescried by bard before, 
 In his wild and wandering- way, 
 Novel Objects to pourtray. 
 
 Gentle Critic ! then forbear 
 On that Muse to be severe ; 
 And when next her lay thou see, 
 A curtsy will she make to Thee.
 
 PROFESSIONAL POEMS 
 
 THE DISPUTED PEG, 
 SI GTale. 
 
 Nugne seria ducent. 
 
 Full oft is origin of right 
 So far conceal' d from human sight, 
 That what's a man's exclusive own 
 Is sometimes not precisely known. 
 Full oft, too, a mere trifle tends 
 To make those foes who once were friends, 
 When Pride and Self-conceit impart 
 Their subtle influence to the heart. 
 
 It happen'd thus with neighbours twain, 
 Who, waxing wealthy, waxed vain. 
 In the same village long they dwelt; 
 In the same pew, at church, they knelt; 
 Where, just above its limits small, 
 One Peg alone adorn'd the wall ; 
 
 B
 
 And, sure as Sunday came, on that, 
 Suspended was old Crusty \s hat. 
 No heed to this his neighbour paid, 
 While paced his feet Life's humble shade ; 
 When, like each moderate desire, 
 Plain as his food was his attire : 
 But when increas'd his flocks and kine, 
 His Sunday-dress became more fine. 
 
 One Sabbath, rigg'd in beaver new, 
 Ralph came to his accustom'd pew j 
 And, being first within the place, 
 Resolv'd his Hat the Peg- shou'd grace, — 
 Thinking it shou'd be full in view, 
 Because it was bran-spanking new. 
 Ah, vain resolve ! the crusty man 
 Soon came : and, as had been his plan, 
 Instant dislodg'd the proud Intruder, 
 By mode that made the action ruder. 
 He, looking fiercely, threw it flat, 
 Where its offended owner sat ; 
 Who, springing sudden on the floor, 
 Replac'd it on the Peg once more : 
 Once more old Crusty flung it down, 
 With a most gruff, contemptuous frown, 
 And, putting on the bit of wood 
 His own again, before it stood, 
 With arms across, and furious stare, 
 Thai said, Remove it, if you dare.
 
 His neighbour Ralph, unwilling now, 
 In such a place to make a row, 
 Prudentially esteem'd it best 
 The point no longer to contest ; 
 But whisper' d in old C rusty 's ear, 
 " For this I'll make your purse pay dear;" 
 Who, ready now with rage to burst, 
 Said, " I defy you : do your worst." 
 
 So fitted were, by these emotions, 
 The worshippers for their devotions, 
 That by their looks, full proof was giv'n 
 Neither had thoughts much fix'd on heav'n ; 
 But if the Muse the truth may tell, 
 They wish'd each other's hats in hell. 
 
 The sermon ended, home they went, 
 And gave their angry passions vent j 
 One vowing, if reduc'd to beg 
 By cost of Law, he'd have the Peg, 
 Shou'd he the first at church arrive, 
 In spite of any man alive ; 
 The other swearing he'd defend 
 His right, or his last shilling spend. 
 
 On either's brow still sate a frown, 
 When, bright, the Sabbath sun went down ; 
 And, when again it brightly rose, 
 It found them just as deadly foes : 
 So little did that precept bind, 
 Which ought to govern all mankind — 
 
 b 2
 
 " When ye 1o balmy sleep retire, 
 Let not tierce wrath your bosoms tire : 
 As sinks the Sun, so sink your ire." — 
 In vain did neighbours wise suggest 
 That to avoid a suit were best ; 
 That this they mutually might do, 
 Instead of one Peg, to have two : — 
 But no; — the Peg original 
 Each would possess, or none at all ; 
 And, till determin'd, Ralpho swore 
 That he to church would go no more ; 
 Nor even then, unless took place 
 What he thought Justice in the case. 
 
 So, oft we see a simple mortal 
 Aloof keep from the hallow'd portal, 
 Because he thinks the priestly touch 
 Has on him press VI somewhat too much, 
 In tithe or offering, pig or pence, — 
 And deems so flagrant the offence, 
 As to create a Schism wide 
 Between him and his sacred Guide ; 
 Cause for a quarrel tpiite as good 
 As Ralph's and Crusty 's Peg of Wood. 
 
 Soon to the Law-shop both resorted, 
 And each, with ire, his Case reported. 
 " A wooden Peg-? — Zounds! nevermind it 
 " Drive in a Nail : your hat will find it ; 
 " And as securely hang upon it, 
 *' As does, al home, your Goody's bonnet.
 
 " What ! make a rumpus in a Seat, 
 " Where mortals ought in peace to meet? 
 " And where, instead of shewing - airs, 
 " They piously shou'd say their pray'rs? 
 " A church that place ? a pew the scene ? 
 " A bit of wood the cause of spleen? — 
 " Pri'thee, mv man, for such a trifle 
 " Your wrath and indignation stifle."(l) 
 
 Such was one Lawyer's kind advice ; 
 Another's Conscience, not so nice, 
 Prompted for Damages to press, 
 Predicting almost sure redress; 
 Said, Crusty's claim he might defy, 
 And that an action good would lie 
 Against him for the base assault : 
 " As you, my friend, were not in fault, 
 " Crusty," said he, " the act shall rue. 
 " Done in a Church too ? and a Vew ? 
 ** No more his property than your's! 
 " The man who such an act endures, 
 " Has neither spirit, sense, or soul, 
 " His rights to seek, or wrongs control," 
 " But I," said Ralph, ** have these and more; 
 " I've wealth ; and pounds will spend a score." 
 — Ah, simple Ralph ! the cork once draw 
 That bottles the spruce beer of Law, 
 And out will fly about thy ears 
 The hoarded gains of many years.
 
 " Spend pounds a score?" — If right I ken, 
 For one score, Ralph, thou should at say, ten. 
 
 So cool Discretion would have told him ; 
 But Reason's pow'r, too weak to hold him, 
 Let him escape to Cunning's sway, 
 Who thus address' d his destin'd prey : 
 " I know your means, Sir, to a tittle : 
 " You're not afraid to spend a little ; 
 " And that, (deciding all pretences) 
 " Will bring old Crusty to his senses." 
 " I'll spend it then, as I'm a sinner, 
 " As freely as I eat my dinner, 
 " To have my right of Peg i'th' Pew: 
 " So, Lawyer, now your course pursue." 
 He, did — and so did Crusty's too. 
 They kept the disputants at bay, 
 Till melted many a pound away. 
 
 Yet, of the Cause too much asham'd, 
 To have it in a Court proclaim 'd, 
 At last, when each contending fool 
 Became in clioler somewhat cool, 
 They recommended Arbitration, 
 To settle the adjudication. 
 
 The Bonds were drawn, and duly sign'd ; 
 The Parties met at Inn and din'd. 
 Tho' trivial was the festive Cause 
 That superseded all the laws; 
 Scrap of a tree, — not that, 1 ween, 
 That was in Adam's garden seen,
 
 Denoting Knowledge: this the source 
 Of folly, strife, — and the divorce 
 Of friendship ; yet, tho' small and dry, 
 It did abundant means supply 
 Of feasting to the arbitrators, 
 Who ate and drank like alligators : 
 While the Suppliers sate and look'd 
 As if themselves had too been cook'd. 
 Seldom had they a word to say, 
 Suspecting what they both must pay. 
 
 The dinner done, the toasts went round, 
 As if each wou'd in punch be drown' d : 
 Till the two Lawyers call'd a truce, 
 That they the facts might now produce. 
 These, in due form, were all related, 
 As in the Muse's brief is stated. 
 Then the two friends were bade withdraw, 
 Each with his chosen Limb of Law ; 
 While th' arbitrators went to think, — 
 Their lack of sense supplied by drink. 
 Yet, utter foes to all confusion, 
 They soon arrive at this conclusion : 
 " Touching this matter, so unpleasant, 
 " Let all expences, past and present, 
 " Divided 'tween the Parties be: 
 " And, that henceforth they may agree, 
 " Nor e'er again have cause to rue it, 
 " Touching the Peg, — w r e order, through it
 
 8 
 
 ' Some Carpenter a hole do make, 
 " That wou'd the Judge's sapling take, 
 " With which a man may thresh a wife, 
 " Whose tongue delights in angry strife : 
 " And let there well be fasten' d in 
 " Aforesaid hole, an oaken pin ; 
 " On which, at either end, may dangle 
 " A Hat, and give no cause to wrangle ; 
 " And either end shall he his due 
 " Who first may get within the Pew : 
 " And last, — as here the matter ends, 
 " We order that they both be friends." 
 
 Crusty and Ralph were now call'd in, 
 Each with a smile so like a grin, 
 As needed not the lore of schools 
 To write them both still angry fools. 
 Ralph, save the money-paying part, 
 Approv'd the terms with all his heart ; 
 But Crusty, not so well content, 
 Grunted morosely his assent ; 
 Re-thinking of the bond and pelf, 
 Convine'd he cou'd not help himself. 
 
 The Peace-makers and Men of Law 
 Then said, " Unless the) forthwith saw 
 " Good-fellowship between their neighbours, 
 " Fruitless were all these well-meant labours, 
 " Fruitless the plans of wisest brains, — 
 '* They had then Labour for their pains:"
 
 9 
 
 When, instantly, a hand each took, 
 With very much just such a look 
 As pugilistic heroes wear, 
 Before their boney fists they rear, 
 To batter flat each other's nose, 
 Or block up eyes with deadly blows. 
 
 Thus, interchanged 'twixt state and state, 
 Which long has warr'd with rancorous hate, 
 Is seen such reconciliation : 
 A truce, but not a termination, 
 Of enmity and bitter strife, — 
 The two worst ills in human life. 
 While calm within the virtuous breast, 
 Which angry passions ne'er molest, 
 A gentle Heart pursues its aim, 
 Heedless of what the world calls fame ; 
 An aim, which may conduce to peace, 
 And cause the storms of strife to cease ; 
 Or, soaring' to a brighter sphere, 
 Will fix its meditations there. 
 
 As, just above this globe terrene, 
 Where clouds to sweep along are seen, 
 Whence lightnings flash, and hail descends, 
 And thunder the dark concave rends, 
 Thro' op'nings bright tin* observant eye 
 Discerns a settled sunny sky, — 
 So, thus, to Virtue, here is giv'n 
 Anticipation sweet of Heav'n.
 
 10 
 
 THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 
 
 Si ilelcctaiis aceto, 
 Nun fat it ail Stoiuacli'im nostra lagina lumii. 
 
 Mail. 
 
 Some men take likings quite at random, 
 (De gustibus non — disputandiun) 
 As some like lean folk, — some like fat, — 
 Some fancy monkeys, — some a cat ; 
 Some, when they gormandize and dine, 
 Enjoy good food and sparkling wine. 
 But more than wine, and more than food,— 
 Such was Sir Qualm's eccentric mood, 
 That, tho' devoid of ache or phthisic, 
 What he enjoy 'd the most was — physic. 
 Physic, at morn, at noon, at night, 
 Was this strange epicure's delight. 
 Dose, after dose, he guzzled down, 
 Devouring more than all the town 
 Of jalaps, bitters, draughts, and squills, 
 Emetics, boluses, and pills; 
 And yet, so pale was he withal, 
 As if, from some sick hospital,
 
 11 
 
 He was permitted, once a day, 
 
 Just to and fro' about to stray 
 
 Along the level terrace walk, 
 
 Where Age with Age delights to talk 
 
 Of times gone by, and actions done ; 
 
 When, save themselves, beneath the sun, 
 
 The actors, no where to be found, 
 
 Are, in their grave-clothes, slumb'ring sound. 
 
 Qualmo, it seems, did not complain 
 
 Of whelming years, or actual pain ; 
 
 Yet he wou'd mope about and sigh, 
 
 Without a single reason why : 
 
 And therefore thought that Physic wou'd, 
 
 Some how or other, do him good. 
 One morn, he call'd at Galen's door, 
 
 Who had refus'd to send him more, 
 
 To know the Man of Physic's reason 
 
 For such refusal, out of season ? 
 
 " Reason? my friend, if you have none, 
 
 " I could assign you more than one. 
 
 " Does Reason influence you, I pray, 
 
 " Thus to be hankering, night and day, 
 
 " After a drug, as if 'twere food, 
 Like one that's in a longing mood ? 
 Women will long, and strangely too ; 
 But who e'er heard of Men, like you, 
 That had, for Physic, such a craving, 
 Unless they were with madness raving? 
 
 > V 
 
 (t 
 
 it 
 it
 
 12 
 
 " For, sure I am, if all you've ta'en 
 
 u Essentially in you remain, — 
 
 " And if (when here you breathe no more) 
 
 " A chemist cou'd the drags restore, 
 
 44 Thro' his alembic, drop by drop, 
 
 " They wou'd a country doctor's shop 
 
 " Supply with all a doctor needs, — 
 
 " Save lancet sharp, with which he bleeds, — 
 
 " Forceps, a ragged tooth to draw, — 
 
 " Perchance to break a bumpkin's jaw, — 
 
 44 Keen pungent salts, when patients swoon, — 
 
 " And pipe, that never play'd a tune. 
 
 " Or, could your corpus, dried with care, 
 
 " Be ke|>t from putrifying air, 
 
 44 It would, reduced to powder, prove 
 
 44 A cure for ev'ry pain but Love : 
 
 44 For that is, if you tell me true, 
 
 44 The only pain you never knew ; 
 
 " Nor do your others, in rotation, 
 
 " Exist but in Imagination. 
 
 " Then pri'thee, neighbour, be content, 
 
 " And a few weeks observe as Lent ; 
 
 " Nor after luxuries longer pine, 
 
 44 As thriftless drunkards do for wine; 
 
 44 But cease that hypochondriac moan, 
 
 44 And let my gallipots alone : 
 
 44 For, if I'm not mistaken, you 
 
 44 Thrice have their, Spirits gal lop' d through."
 
 13 
 
 " Then pray, my friend, I do implore 
 
 " That they may gallop through once more." 
 
 " No," Galen said, with aspect grave, 
 
 " If youve no conscience, Sir, /have; 
 
 " And can no longer pocket pelf 
 
 " To injure you and serve myself. 
 
 " Instead of physic, take a ride, 
 
 " And breathe the air of Ocean's tide. 
 
 " Take also (what your health will mend), 
 
 " As a companion, some kind friend, 
 
 " With spirits buoyant, — converse cheerful ; 
 
 " Nor, by the way, at all be fearful 
 
 " Of meeting bad or fickle weather, 
 
 " But, happy, jog along together. 
 
 " I say, Sir, yo^r along : for, shaking 
 
 " Upon the saddle, e'en to quaking, 
 
 " Will, marvellously, ev'ry mile, 
 
 " Quicken your pulse, and stir the bile; 
 
 " At ev'ry inn will make you eat — 
 
 " (Better than physic) — wholesome meat : 
 
 " Nay, more, you'll find in nightly nest, 
 
 " Without a Soporific, — Rest. 
 
 " At morn, ere yet the lark arise, 
 
 " And seek, on quiv'ring wing, the skies, 
 
 " Blithe caroling his dulcet lay 
 
 " To the returning orb of day, 
 
 " You and your friend alert will leap 
 
 " From the refreshing couch of sleep,
 
 I ( 
 
 1 And, like that orb, your way pursue 
 ' Thro' plains besprint with virgin dew, 
 
 • Whose trembling drops, on tree and grass, 
 1 Will shame the diamond, as you pass, 
 
 • Till next you find a pleasant inn ; 
 
 • Where, breakfasting you'll think a sin, 
 ' So much will you, within an hour, 
 
 ' Of wholesome rustic food devour. 
 
 " Ex uno disce omnes : thus, 
 ' From one day's tour, the rest discuss, 
 ' Fifty such days will buy, what wealth 
 ' Can never purchase — rosy Health ; 
 ' And, wanting that, who can employ 
 ' Riches to purchase real joy?* 
 ' Despise not this prescription, pray, 
 ' Because you nothing have to pay : 
 ' I rank you, Sir, my friends among, 
 1 And gladly wou'd your life prolong, — 
 1 With ardour wou'd your mind inspire, 
 ' And thence drive phantoms. For desiiv 
 ' Of physic is a vague pretence, 
 ' That overcomes each better sense, — 
 ' That gives encouragement to Quacks, 
 ' Who lay poor mortals on their backs, 
 i As if they were so many bales 
 ' Of goods: and, gone, they tell no tales, 
 
 * " Nun est vivere, sed vatere \it;(."
 
 15 
 
 " To caution other simple fools 
 From following those empiric rules, 
 Which may abridge their lease of breath, 
 And people more the realms of Death. — 
 Nay, there are weak ones in the nation, 
 So strong in their imagination, 
 As to gulp down a stagnant sink, 
 
 
 it 
 ti 
 it 
 tt 
 a 
 ft 
 
 " Preferr'd the more, the more it stink, 
 " And lavish on it funds of wealth, 
 " Conceiving it a Fount of Health ! 
 " Who, on its failing, wonder'd why 
 " So soon was drank the Fountain dry !(2) 
 — Among such Gothamites, let Fame 
 Cease to enrol your honour' d name ; 
 " And take (of physic, Sir, instead^, 
 " In friendly part, what 1 have said." 
 Ingenuous Galen's conscience eas'd, 
 His neighbour, not a little pleas'd 
 With lib'ral counsel thus imparted 
 By one so truly open-hearted, 
 Was, of ideal ills beguil'd. 
 A moment standing mute, he smil'd : 
 And when the silence brief he broke, 
 Thus, with a grateful mind, he spoke : 
 " My honest friend, 1 like your plan: 
 " Yet, save yourself, there's not a man, 
 " Except our neighbour, the attorney, 
 <4 With whom I'll undertake the journey :
 
 \G 
 
 " And he is so burners' d in law, 
 
 " That, from bis office, him to draw, 
 
 ** Were just as easy as for people 
 
 " To run away witli yonder steeple. 
 
 " Therefore I will across my saddle, 
 
 " When you think fit, prepare to straddle; 
 
 " While you shall mount your trusty Grey, 
 
 " Also to jog and trot away 5 
 
 " And, too, portmanteau' d, my man John 
 
 " (Forgetting not diacalon) 
 
 " Shall, with your linen clean and mine, 
 
 " In his laced livery jacket shine. 
 
 " And, let me tell you, he the purse 
 
 " Shall bear, nor your's at all be worse. 
 
 " Mine the excursion, — for my health, 
 
 " It shall not touch another s wealth : 
 
 " And, use of mine, I can't make better, 
 
 " While I shall still remain your debtor." 
 
 Galen replied, and shook his head 
 At every word his patient said ; 
 " To o-o I sbou'd be much delighted : 
 " But think of those who must be lighted,* — 
 " Of Mrs. Twin-love, and a score 
 " Of soon-expecting Ladies more, 
 " Who scarce will let me, from their sight, 
 « Be absent, either day or night. 
 
 '* A word used in some parts of England, in midwifery 
 rasrs, for delivered.
 
 17 
 
 "And, shou'd I wait to light the last, 
 " Your jaunting season will be past." 
 — " Well, then, you prize another's wife 
 " Beyond my health, — beyond my life j 
 " For, without you, I will not go : 
 " So now, my friend, my mind you know." 
 
 Kind Galen paus'd in thought profound, — 
 Look'd at the sky, and at the ground, 
 Then said, " I have it. — In my youth, 
 " When every heart is fond of truth, 
 " A friend professional I met, 
 " Well skill'd a fractur'd limb to set ; 
 " And, to put, safely, dames to bed, 
 " A clev'rer man ne'er liv'd, 'tis said : 
 
 A man deservedly admir'd, 
 
 Who late from practice has retir'd. 
 " He will, I know, with gen'rous grace, 
 " Pro tempore, supply my place. 
 " To him I will, this very night, 
 " A supplicatory letter write: 
 " So that, within a post or two, 
 " You shall be told what I can do." 
 
 The letter went ; an answer came : 
 His quondam friend was still the same- 
 Gen' rous, disengag'd, and willing, 
 He promis'd aid without a shilling. 
 Nay, more, — each patient to content, 
 Before, from home, kind Galen went, 
 
 c 

 
 He promis'd too, tliat he wou'd seek 
 His crony's house within the week. 
 
 He came : and soon a cordial greeting 
 Was witnessed, on their happy meeting. 
 The best bed duly was prepar'd, — 
 The finest sheets and blankets air'd, — 
 And Mrs. Galen her best looks 
 Put on, to stand well in the books 
 Of him whom all so much respected, 
 And, by her husband, was selected 
 To take in trust his patients' lives, 
 And gratify so many wives. 
 Herself disliking not diversion, 
 She long'd to share the sea-excursion ; 
 Yet, with a woman's wish to roam. 
 Still felt her duties were at home, — 
 The duties of a prudent wife 
 Being to bless a husband's life ; 
 The more, when absent far away, 
 In distant scenes awhile he stray. 
 For his a life of constant care, 
 Found intervening comforts rare, — 
 From post to pillar on his horse, 
 Than common lab'rer treated worse ; 
 Because that lab'rer's task is done 
 When sets, at close of day, the sun. 
 But her good man's had no such close, — 
 No pause by day, — no night's repose ;
 
 19 
 
 And, knowing' well, the bow, tho' strong', 
 If always bent, will break ere long-, 
 She wish'd him respite of some leisure. 
 For purpose meet of health and pleasure ; 
 Rejoicing, as a true wife should, 
 In her kind hubby's every good. 
 
 Imprimis, deeming it of use 
 His new-come Friend to introduce, 
 Th' ensuing morn them duly found 
 Taking their Esculapian round 
 Among the patients, well and ill, 
 Who might require the doctor's skill. 
 
 Thus smoothly settled each affair, 
 Off with Malade imaginaire, 
 And his man John, good Galen set, 
 Thoughtless of change from dry to wet. 
 Summer the time, and fine the weather, 
 Each heart as light as downy feather, 
 The morning lovely, when they started, 
 As when th' Imperial Queen departed, 
 Thron'd, 'mid her train of State, to sail 
 On Cydnus' stream, with prosp'rous gale : 
 But, as to her, when all elate, 
 Reverse was doom'd by envious fate, 
 So, to the friends, in their excursion, 
 Was destin'd an unkind immersion. 
 The Sun became obscur'd by mist, — 
 The clouds the mountain-summits kiss'd, 
 
 c Z
 
 '20 
 
 And clown, in torrents, pour'd the rain, 
 
 As deluge meant to come again : 
 
 Great-coats and trees the drops receive, 
 
 As if each were a porous sieve. 
 
 The horses shook their dripping ears ; 
 
 The riders' hats shed floods of tears : 
 
 Still on they scamper' d, helter skelter, — 
 
 Not e'en a hovel near for shelter j 
 
 Till they, at last, beheld a sign, 
 
 Where travellers put up to dine. 
 
 That sign was meant, I ween, when painted, 
 
 To represent a Being sainted ; 
 
 But, if not deck'd with wings and trumpet, 
 
 It might be deem'd some brazen strumpet. 
 
 The sign, howe'er, is little needed, 
 
 When fare, that's good, within is heeded ; 
 
 And, like an Angel kind that brings 
 
 Abundance on its plumy wings, 
 
 This semblance of a thing so fair 
 
 Welcom'd, to its protective care, 
 
 Our weather-beaten journeying friends : — 
 
 Good cheer for bad sign makes amends. 
 
 Into the yard they dash'd together, 
 Leaving behind the rainy weather. 
 Straight to the kitchen, in despair, 
 First ran 3Ialade imaginaire ; 
 Where, 'fore a fire that brightly blaz'd, 
 He stamp'd and storm' d, like one quite crazd,
 
 " Pray, to the next apothecary, 
 
 ° Run ! Porter, run ! and do not tarry. 
 
 " A cordial fetch, — a cordial warm, 
 
 " To counteract this drenching storm. 
 
 " Quick! Porter, quick! don't move like lead, 
 
 man ; 
 " Or soon I shall become a dead man." 
 
 The messenger away then scamper' d, 
 Neither with hat or jacket hamper' d ; 
 And, as the water-spouts, on high, 
 Still pour'd, they made him faster fly. 
 
 Meantime, the hostess, stout and plump, 
 In form not much unlike a pump, 
 But kind in heart as any creature, 
 Which show'd itself in ev'ry feature, 
 Said, " Till returns the lazy lubbard, 
 " Pray, Sir, accept, from this my cupboard, 
 " A drop of Comfort, warm, tho' old, 
 " That may prevent your taking cold." 
 
 He thank' d the gen'rous Angel-dam, 
 And, in an instant, gulp'd the dram ; 
 Which, aided by the blazing fire, 
 So well fulfill 'd her kind desire, 
 That, far beyond what he deem'd meet, 
 He soon felt such a burning heat, 
 That he declar'd, with panting breath, 
 A fever soon wou'd be his death. 
 " Therefore," said he, " 1 do opine 
 " I must procure a draught saline.
 
 )•> 
 
 " Pray, Mister Waiter, in a trice, 
 
 " Do fetch me one that's cool and nice." 
 
 The Waiter scamper' d after Boots; 
 And being* lighter in the roots, 
 They both, within the doctor's shop, 
 At the same moment chanc'd to pop. 
 
 The only scruples he possess' d 
 Were in his scales, not in his breast. 
 Therefore, unlike his better brother, 
 Good honest Galen, he no pother 
 About the two-fold order made, 
 Nor long the brace of heralds stay'd; 
 But said, " The Gentleman, their guest, 
 " Might take the dose he.fancied best." 
 
 Out, both the messengers then set, 
 As if contending for a bet ; 
 Yet, lovingly, they so contriv'd, 
 That, both together they arriv'd. — 
 " Here, Sir, 's the cooling draught ;" — " and here 
 " Is cordial warm, — tho' very dear: 
 " For physic quite too much to pay ; 
 " But Haste forbade that we shou'd stay 
 " To tell the doctor what we thought : 
 " So, instantly, the stuff we brought," 
 Said honest Boots. 
 
 In either hand, 
 See! the drug-loving mortal stand. 
 Holding a label'd phial bright, 
 Delightful to hi* doating sight
 
 23 
 
 v< 
 
 Now," said his laughing medic friend, 
 " Here let your Physic-mania end. 
 " For, whether of the mixtures twain, 
 " To suit your whim, to say were vain. — 
 " Which will you take?"— " Why faith!" he 
 
 cried 
 (And gloatingly the bottles ey'd, 
 As Bacchanalian wou'd Port wine, 
 To see the filmy bee's wing shine), 
 " Bring me a basin or a bowl, 
 " Waiter! that will contain the whole: 
 " To part with either I am loth ; 
 " So, I will even take them both," 
 He said ; and mixing them together, 
 Call'd it " a dose for rainy weather." 
 Then down they went ; tho' each rebell'd, 
 Like two sworn foes, to meet compell'd. 
 
 " Well ! now," said Galen, " Sir, I see 
 " You are resolv'd on work for me. 
 " No Sinecure, it seems, or leisure, 
 " Am I to have on tour of pleasure. 
 " If what you've swallow'd breed no riot, 
 " And stay within your stomach quiet, 
 " It is a citadel more strong 
 " Than does to mortal man belong. — 
 " When you, restor'd, have seen me dine, — 
 " Over my walnuts and my wine, 
 " I will recount a tale or two, 
 " Not of less worth for being true :
 
 tt 
 n 
 
 24 
 
 " But, now, a truce, for pale you look, 
 
 " In consequence of what you took : 
 
 " And well you may ! Transgress no more ; 
 
 " And you, this once, I will restore. 
 
 " Mine hostess' cupboard will supply 
 The means to say, You shall not die. — 
 — Here! I prescribe this gen'rous glass. — 
 
 " Drink it ; and play no more the ass. — 
 
 " I'll to my meat ; nor think me cruel 
 
 " If I dose you with water-gruel : 
 
 " For solids, you, Sir, after such 
 
 " A piece of folly, must not touch." 
 Soon to their separate meal they went ; 
 
 Where, Muse ! now leave them — both content ; 
 
 Galen, the better for his dining ; 
 
 His patient sick, tho' un repining : 
 
 Because, when all the fault's their own, 
 
 Men wisely let complaint alone. 
 
 GALEN'S FIRST TALE. 
 
 Well, Sir, while you sit fasting there, 
 Quite easy now, in elbow-chair, 
 With these, my tints, my joke I'll crack, 
 Your Mania strange again t' attack.
 
 25 
 
 You must remember the old 'Squire, 
 Whose pastime was, thro' bog* and briar, 
 To ride as Nimrod did before, 
 O'er mighty mounds, in days of yore. 
 Great, too, our modern hunter's fame ; 
 Hawthorn his rural Place and Name. 
 His only Son, too, thought it good 
 To show his sense and prove his blood, 
 Like his late Sire, in leathern breeches, 
 To fly o'er hedges, gates, and ditches. 
 At last, in quest of this his pleasure, 
 A leap he took beyond his measure ; 
 And, pitching forwards on his head, 
 Was home convey 'd, imagin'd dead. 
 Promptly I went. His mother (crying-) 
 Told me, she fear'd her Son was dying. 
 When I him copiously had bled, 
 We mov'd him carefully to bed ; 
 Where, poor young man ! long time he lay, 
 Counting the hours by night and day. 
 What you wou'd like, I own, I gave him, — 
 A world of Medicine, to save him ! 
 And much was sent that was not taken, — 
 Label'd, of course, " to be well shaken ;" 
 Some to relax, — and some to brace, 
 As call'd for by his varying case. 
 These, on the mantle-piece were rang'd 
 Whene'er the patients symptoms chang'd.
 
 •20 
 
 Alarm of danger o'er, at length, 
 Nearly restored to former strength, 
 His gladden'd Mother swept away 
 Of phials all the dread array : 
 Some partly empty, — some quite full, 
 With sediment opaque and dull. 
 A basket held the motley treasure, 
 Which she convey'd away with pleasure, — 
 Bade Joseph, with complacent look, 
 " Take all, that instant, to the brook, 
 " And throw the physic to the fishes : 
 " There let each swallow what he wishes, 
 " For, Heav'n be prais'd ! thy dear young Master, 
 " Recover'd now from his disaster, 
 " Will want no more such nauseous stuff: 
 " Poor fellow ! he has had enough. 
 " As, over now are all his trials, 
 " Go, wash quite clean these twenty phials, 
 " And give them, forty if they were, 
 " To Nurse, for all her tender care. 
 " And, Joseph, when thy task is done, 
 " Thou shalt, since hottish is the sun, 
 " Have some good humming beer, — not small, 
 " To drink thy Master's health withal." 
 
 With ready zeal, and heart content, 
 As, on his errand Joseph went, 
 His fellow servant, Jerry, met him, 
 And, with his questions thus beset him :
 
 27 
 
 " Joe, where beest going- in such haste ? 
 " Any thing good there ? Let me taste." — 
 " No : only Physic, lack-a-day ! 
 " Which now is money thrown away. 
 " Young Master's getting well, you know : 
 " So, Mistress said, Come hither Joe ! 
 " Empty these bottles in the water; 
 " And see, quite clean thou rince them a'ter !" — 
 "What! throw away," said Jerry, staring, 
 " All that good stuff? — 'Tis past all bearing ! 
 " Pray stop a bit : I'll fetch a mug." 
 — Soon he return'd, and brought a jug. 
 " What next?" said Joe. " Why," with a grin, 
 Then answered Jerry, " Put it in." — 
 — " Well, there it is: and now," said Joe, 
 " What with it do you mean to do ?" 
 " What with it ? Thee shalt see anon : 
 " What's good for Master's good for mon." — 
 " Why, you'll not drink it ?"— " But I will, 
 " As sure as ever mon took pill. — 
 " Here's to thee, lad:— Wil'tha' some?" "No."— 
 " Then, down red lane it all shall go." 
 No sooner said than done : nor stop 
 Did Jerry make, till, ev'ry drop 
 He from the pitcher had drained out : 
 Then, looking mighty wise about, 
 Said, " Joe 'tis precious warm within ; 
 " And is as nice as rum or gin."
 
 28 
 
 " I wish," then, smiling, answered, Joe, 
 " You long- may, Jerry, find it so." 
 
 The bottles wash'd, and home return 1 d, 
 Joseph, to tell the secret burn'd, 
 While drinking' his far-better cheer, — 
 The promis'd horn of humming beer. 
 Loud rang the kitchen with the joke, 
 At ev'ry word that Joseph spoke; 
 Joseph so serious looked the while : 
 He always did : tho' roguish, smile 
 Ne'er mantled in his steady face ; 
 As if just going to say Grace. 
 A second Liston quite was Joe, 
 Wearing himself a face of woe, 
 While (that his joke so well befitting) 
 With laughter others' sides were splitting. 
 
 But soon had cliff* rent cause poor Jerry, 
 Like them to joke and be so merry. 
 Homewards he crawl'd ; but, knowing well 
 That Joseph wou'd the matter tell, — 
 Like one who has committed sin, 
 Jerry dar'd not to venture in : 
 But, after leaning on a post, 
 With visage white as any ghost, 
 While rolling, roaring on the ground, 
 He was, by fellow-servant found ; 
 Who soon call'd out the menial clan, 
 To ridicule the simple man.
 
 29 
 
 Yet, when they saw him in such plight, 
 Pitying (as well indeed they might) 
 Quickly was chang'd their merriment 
 To fear : and straight for me they sent. 
 Joseph the messenger became ; 
 Whose speed well prov'd he was not lame. 
 And why ? because he was no stranger 
 That he might be involv'd in danger, 
 For having had so great a share 
 In Jerry's physicking affair : 
 He begg'd I wou'd not lose a minute, 
 In doing what I cou'd do in it. 
 Quick, at his heels, there came another : 
 It was the novel patient's brother; 
 Who (" if I went not instant,") said 
 " That poor dear Jerry wou'd be dead." 
 
 And, pray, ask'd I, why all this clatter? 
 Do tell me plainly what's the matter ; 
 That, promptly, I some useful thing 
 May send by you, or with me bring. — 
 Has he ta'en poison ? or is he sick ? 
 " La ! doctor, he's ta'en all your pheesick." 
 Ta'en all my physic ! what d'ye mean ? 
 " Why, Madam wish'd the bottles clean; 
 " And sent them (quite a basket full) 
 By Joseph ; who, Sir, was so dull, 
 That, going to the river's brink, 
 " He gave it Jerry all to drink." 

 
 ft 
 
 30 
 
 " No," answer'd Joseph ;" near the brook, 
 
 Jerry himself the physic took. 
 
 He took it, Sir, in kind of frolic ; 
 
 And, with it, is half dead with cholic ; 
 " And will be soon the other half, — 
 " As sure as butcher kills a calf, 
 " If you, Sir, time in questions waste, — 
 " And do na scamper off in haste." 
 
 Finding what then I had to do, — 
 As he can best a clock set true 
 Who all its wheels first put in motion, 
 I, with me, took so strong a potion, 
 That, if his stomach were of brass, 
 It would have made the ailment pass. 
 Upwards and downwards, all at once, 
 Like a steam-engine, work'd the dunce. 
 Rolling in pain, his constant cry 
 Was, " Oh ! must I of Physic die ?" 
 As if he thought it hard indeed, 
 To find a bane in what men need. 
 
 Attentive sate the doctor's friend, 
 Nibbling, in thought, each finger-end 
 (Just like a mouse within a cheese), 
 When most the mind should be at ease : 
 At last, exclaim'd he, " Wou'd 'twere will'd, 
 " That I might die to be so kill'd ! 
 " Since that a pleasant death wou'd prove 
 " That comes bv what we dearly love."
 
 31 
 
 Aye, bat, good Sir, we Physic give, 
 Not men to kill, but make them live. 
 When needed, 'tis of wond'rous use ; 
 When needed not, 'twill ill produce. 
 How various what the earth bestows ! 
 The nettle see ! beside the rose ; 
 The deadly hemlock 'mid those trees 
 Which yield us fruit, and cure disease :* 
 But Heav'n ne'er meant that mortals shou'd 
 Prefer the evil to the good ; 
 Else all the treasures of the brain 
 To mortals were vouchsaf'd in vain. 
 — Happy are they, — more bless'd than wealth 
 Can make them, — who, enrich'd by Health, 
 Require not what the gen'rous earth 
 Imparts to man, of medic worth 
 (Assuasive Comforters below) 
 To ease his pain, and sooth his woe ! 
 A Mother's milk first meets his lip, 
 Soon as the bev'rage he can sip : 
 A Mother's tender, constant care, 
 Protects him from each noxious air, 
 Regardless of herself the while ; 
 Who, to bless him, in pangs will smile : 
 
 * Terra salutiferas herbas, eademque nocentes, 
 Nutrit ; et urticae proxima saepe rosa est. 
 
 Ovid,
 
 32 
 
 And, by a Father's wisdom trailed, — 
 
 Uprear'd, defended, and maintained, — 
 
 Guided along- the paths of Youth 
 
 To Virtue, Usefulness, and Truth. 
 
 Nor here do all the mercies close 
 
 Of Him, from whom each mercy flows. 
 
 The mineral world its largess yields ; 
 
 Nature unbosoms all her fields ; 
 
 The Ocean blends its waves with care ; 
 
 And Mercy breathes thro' all the air, 
 
 To bless the favour'd creature, Man. 
 
 Then shall he shorten, to a span, 
 
 The Life that He who made him gave,- 
 
 And rush, untimely, to the grave, — 
 
 By Indiscretion? — nay, by Guilt? 
 
 For he, who brother's blood has spilt, 
 
 Is not more heinous in the sight 
 
 Of Him whose throne exists in right, 
 
 Than is the creature of his hand, 
 
 Who disobeys his dread command, 
 
 By an abuse of blessings giv'n 
 
 To cheer our way thro' earth to Heav'n. 
 
 Nor here do all the mercies close 
 Of Him, from whom each mercy flows. 
 Hear what is said of lengthen'd life 
 In one, who dwelt aloof from strife ; 
 A man too — (proudly the confession 
 I make) who honour'd my profession ;
 
 33 
 
 And, perad venture, like his brothers, 
 Dos'd, to their heart's contentment, others; 
 Yet never drug, from his own shop, 
 Swallow'd, himself, or drachm or drop : 
 And still — now open both your ears — 
 He number' d sev'n score healthy years ! 
 Then — as, at autumn-tide we see 
 A filberd, from unshaken tree, 
 Drop softly to the ground, unnipt 
 By breath of Frost, — he gently slipt 
 His mortal coil ; and, in the earth, 
 Whence was deriv'd his pristine birth, 
 He laid him down in peaceful sleep, 
 Till, — summon'd from the grave and deep, 
 He, with his myriad race, shall rise 
 A Patriarch worthy of the skies.* 
 
 Here Galen clos'd his lecture kind ; 
 When, after musing in his mind, 
 With features mov'd, and thoughtful eye, 
 Thus, frankly, did his friend reply : 
 
 * Extraordinary Longevity.— A Surgeon named 
 Pulo-Timan, who resided in the little village of Vendemont, 
 in Lorraine, died lately at the age of 140. This man never 
 left his native place. The day before his death he performed, 
 on a female, with a steady hand, and with professional dex- 
 terity, the operation of cutting for the cancer. He never 
 married, was never bled, never underwent any course of 
 medicine, having had no occasion for it, as he was never ill, 
 though he passed no day without getting tipsy at supper, a 
 meal which he indulged in to the very last.— Pans Paper. 
 
 D
 
 34 
 
 " Now, Sir, you have convinc'd me quite 
 
 " That I una. wrong, and you are right ; 
 
 " That, as 'tis sinful, when we eat, 
 
 " To gluttonize with too much meat, — 
 
 •' And, after eating, too much wine 
 
 " Pour down the throat, like sensual swine; 
 
 " So, is it sinful to transgress 
 
 " By any unrequired excess, 
 
 " Whether in physic or in food, 
 
 " To gratify a wayward mood. 
 
 " Nay, in Religion, there are such 
 
 " Who may be righteous overmuch, 
 
 " By turning her sweet balm to gall, 
 
 M And throwing a funereal pall 
 
 " O'er that most holy, quiet Day, 
 
 " When we are privileged to pay 
 
 " Homage, for every blessing giv'n, 
 
 " To the All-Gracious King of Heav'n. 
 
 M Hear, then, my friend, my firm resolve — 
 " That, whate'er years to me revolve, 
 " Henceforth, from your's or other's shop, 
 
 Of drug I'll take nor pill nor drop, 
 
 Save, when Discretion says I shou'd, 
 " For Health's and Constitution's good. 
 
 " Yet, tho,' no longer physic craving, 
 " I prove a patient scarce worth having, 
 " Nothing the worse shall you e'er be, 
 " For honest conduct shown to inc. — 
 
 a 
 
 t <
 
 It 
 
 a 
 <t 
 
 35 
 
 " To-morrow, when the Sea we view, 
 " I'll walk, and talk, and live like yon, — 
 " Enjoying, in our envied Nation, 
 Its blessing's all, in moderation, — 
 Wishing- its Friends, with these repose, 
 And leave all physic for its Foes." 
 " Then, Sir," said Galen, " I am happy : 
 " And if, to night, retiring nappy, 
 " I do a glass drink more than common, 
 " It shall be To the virtuous Woman, 
 " Whom (since he quits the Ills of life) 
 " My friend shall please to make his Wife." 
 " And I," replied the friend, " a Toast— 
 " (That is, if you permit mine host 
 " To draw, for me, a thing so good 
 " From well-cork'd bottle or from wood) 
 " A Toast, my honest Soul ! I'll give: 
 " May you, to save — not kill — long live ! 
 " — I shou'd, full well I know, combine 
 " In my bespoken-glass of wine, 
 " Her, who o'er your Life's rough path strows 
 " The flow'rs you tread on to repose. 
 " She, when each hard day's work is o'er, 
 " With smiles awaits you at your door, — 
 " Welcomes you home, — a home of Peace ; 
 
 Where her delight is to increase 
 " The pleasures of the finish' d day, 
 " And ev'ry anxious care allay — 
 
 d 2 
 
 tt
 
 " Your Cava Sposa — and may I 
 " Her equal find, before I die!" 
 
 " Thank you, ingenuous, generous Sir! 
 " And, as to roost we shall not stir, 
 " Till light-wing'd hours — a pair — may pass, 
 " While you enjoy your novel glass, 
 " Two other Tales, for your diversion, 
 " I'll tell, to rivet your conversion; 
 " Tales, Sir, which (as they both are true) 
 " Convey a Moral kind to you." 
 
 GALEN'S SECOND TALE. 
 
 A man, possess' d of ample wealth, 
 And ev'ry earthly good — save Health, — 
 At least, that primal blessing — he 
 Fancied was not his own. Ennui, — 
 (A malady, the very worst 
 With which a mortal can be curst) 
 Therefore possess'd him, like a fiend, 
 Instead of Thankfulness : — chagrin'd, 
 He utter'd nought but discontent, 
 And wretched was, where'er he went. 
 — Alas! what foes, — what foolish elves 
 Are thousands, thus to plague themselves,
 
 37 
 
 When, bless'd, they might their wealth employ, 
 And all around them scatter joy ! 
 
 One of this tribe, with look of sorrow, 
 As life scarce hoping on the morrow, 
 The twentieth time, on Probus waited, — 
 The twentieth time, his ailment stated, — 
 The twentieth time, supposing he 
 Shou'd have to pay the willing fee. 
 But no : far d iff' rent was the plan 
 Of that sagacious, gen'rous man, 
 Who spoke his patient thus : " Good Sir! 
 " Your case is sad, unless I err. 
 " For, neither medicine nor food 
 " Will here, in London, do you good. 
 " / cannot cure vou, nor can all 
 " My medic brethren, — shou'd you call, 
 " Them to consult, as now on me ; 
 " So, spare your trouble and your fee : 
 " But go, at coming autumn-tide, 
 " To Windermere's fair Ambleside. 
 " There, will you find, what, here, in vain 
 " You seek — a cure for all your pain : 
 " At least, I think so. High in fame 
 " (Tho 1 I, just now, forget his name) 
 " Dwells one, who, cases such as yours — 
 " Hypochondriacal — soon cures. 
 " You, doubtless, him will find with ease ; 
 " And, mod' rate, too, will find his fees."
 
 38 
 
 The patient promis'd to obey ; 
 And soon prepar'd to shape his way, 
 Bearing a countenance of woe, 
 Whither, delighted — numbers go. 
 A Sister, sprightly, " nothing loth," 
 Engag'd (purveyor for them both) 
 That nought might in the tour be lost, 
 To share its pleasures, — not its cost. 
 
 Arriv'd — enquiries soon began 
 After the far-fam'd, wondrous man, 
 Whose Esculapian skill prevail'd 
 To cure all those who nothing ail'd. 
 No such phenomenon was there : 
 And, soon, the patient did not care 
 Whether, at Ambleside or not, 
 The wondrous mortal had his lot : 
 For, ev'ry ill away was flown, 
 As if they never had been known. 
 
 Pleas'd with the grand, — the lovely secne,- 
 A stranger, now, to care and spleen, — 
 He, who, of late, cou'd scarcely move, 
 Delighted was, abroad to rove. 
 The hills' pure breeze he oft inhal'd, 
 And, oft, on crystal waters sail'd, 
 Till craving hunger bade him hie 
 Whither he found a full supply 
 Of wholesome viands, cold and hot, 
 At his romantic lodging-cot.
 
 39 
 
 There tarried he month or so ; 
 And thence unwilling was to go, 
 Till (more than answer'd ev'ry plan) 
 He journied home an alter'd man. 
 
 Soon, to the kind discerning Sage, 
 Who had prescribed the pilgrimage, 
 He wended his impatient way, 
 To utter all his heart wou'd say. 
 " Well, Sir, by your advice to roam, 
 " Two months ago, I left my home ; 
 " And, all the recent autumn-tide, 
 " I pass'd, near pleasant Ambleside : 
 " Where many human creatures kind 
 " 'Twas mine to meet, — but not to find 
 " The wonder-working Prodigy, 
 " Of whom you spoke in terms so high : 
 " And, as my. ailments, day by day, 
 " Made themselves wings to flee away, 
 " I soon about him ceas'd to search, 
 " And left his brethren in the lurch : 
 For, Doctor, since I saw you last, 
 From Physic I have kept a fast." 
 And, quondam Patient! pri'thee, tell 
 " Me, art thou now or ill or well?" 
 " Never, good Doctor, was man better ; 
 " And ever shall I be your debtor, 
 " For sending me, on errand kind, 
 " To seek a man I cou'd not find." 

 
 40 
 
 " But, have you not, Sir, really found 
 " What, to obtain, full many a pound 
 " You had, in medicine, expended ; 
 " And yet your health was not amended ? 
 " Your maladies were all ideal : 
 " Let your convictions now be real. 
 " Those maladies all medic laws 
 " Defy, when Ease and Wealth's the cause. 
 " You needed Exercise and Air : 
 " I, therefore, these prescrib'd with care. 
 " You took them. The result you see. 
 " Continue them ; and happy be : 
 " Happy, in Health, — the best of gain, — 
 " Without which Wealth and Ease are vain." 
 Here Galen paus'd. His Friend paus'd too. 
 At last, he said, " The Sage, like you, 
 " Knew something, Sir, of human kind ; 
 " Nor was he to Religion blind. 
 " For, he who mortals shuts from bliss, — 
 " Nor in the next world, nor in this, 
 " Deserves the title — Friend of Man. 
 " He wars with Heav'n's own righteous plan : 
 " And Heav'n, all-just, when Time shall close, 
 " Will rank him one of Virtue's foes." — 
 It, doubtless, will, said Galen, Sir, 
 If he, to harmless bliss, demur, 
 And try to make each trusting elf 
 As glum and stupid as himself, —
 
 4J 
 
 Throwing his wormwood in the dishes 
 Which each young* guileless mortal wishes. 
 Such maniacs, who all Joy wou'd kill, 
 Shou'd have, from me, the bitterest pill 
 That all my physic-stock dispenses, 
 To work them to their proper senses. 
 But vain, alas ! the art of schools 
 To work a miracle on fools.* 
 
 Yet, to our Sex are not confin'd 
 These whims and fancies. Woman-kind 
 The mania catch, and preach it too, — 
 As many have dire cause to rue. 
 " Ex nno clisce omnes" — brief 
 This Tale shall be : for, soft relief 
 Of balmy sleep we both require; 
 And, lo! fast wanes our glimmering fire. 
 
 GALEN'S THIRD TALE. 
 
 A fair one, whose bright noon of life 
 Knew not the pleasing cares of Wife, — 
 
 * " He who would do right to Religion, cannot take a 
 more effectual course than by reconciling it with the happi- 
 ness of mankind." 
 
 Tillotson.
 
 42 
 
 One, who, a lily tall resembling, — 
 
 With nerves, like aspin-leaves, all trembling,- 
 
 To a practitioner of fame, 
 
 For his advice, in chariot came ; 
 
 Whom thus the medic Sage address' d : 
 
 " Madam ! when those by Want oppress' d, 
 
 " Hither, like you, to me repair — 
 
 " My best Prescriptions — free as air — 
 
 u A boon, gratuitous, I give. 
 
 " But — as like others, I must live — 
 
 " When to my door, in search of Health, 
 
 " Resorts the favour'd Child of Wealth, 
 
 *' I scruple not to take my fee : 
 
 " Therefore 'tis due from you to me." 
 
 No sooner was his custom told, 
 Than a resplendent piece of gold 
 Was in his palm ; and, quick as rocket, 
 It shot its lustre in his pocket : 
 Whence, from the diff'rent coins (not few) 
 A silver sixpence out he drew. 
 Then, with an arch, benignant smile, 
 Which might the Fair of pain beguile, 
 (Were that her lamentable lot 
 Which, Reader ! as thou know't, 'twas not), 
 He said — " If you in Health would live — 
 " Go, now expend what here I give 
 " In purchase of a skipping-rope : — 
 " And, Madam! tho' I am no pope,
 
 43 
 
 " Use it, and I will you ensure, 
 " Within a month, a certain cure. 
 " For all your maladies arise 
 " From want of Air and TLxercise." 
 
 The Coin and blunt Advice she took : 
 And, alter'd soon in mien and look, — 
 Casting away ideal care, — 
 Became as blithe as she was fair. 
 
 The bell was rung, — the candles white, 
 From Sideboard gave their waxen light 
 To guide the Friends to soft repose ; 
 When, instant, from their seats they rose, — 
 Pursu'd the staircase' easy way, 
 And, on the lobby, paus'd to say 
 What, Reader ! will give thee delight — 
 (Accept it, too) — " Good night ! Good night !"
 
 44 
 
 THE DUTCH PREACHER; 
 
 OR, DOUBLE EFFECT. 
 
 Where Amsterdam, so full of ditches, 
 Sees beauty in enormous breeches, 
 There dwelt a cleric wight, whose name 
 Far floated on the breath of Fame. 
 As an admir'd celebrious preacher, 
 No sect e'er boasted such a teacher. 
 He into good cou'd change an evil, 
 And civilize the very devil ; 
 Cou'd, to a blessing, turn a curse, 
 Or make the better seem the worse. 
 The breast of icy age he fir'd, 
 And was by all the young admir'd. 
 It matter' d not what text he took, 
 A sermon was his very look. 
 When that was sad, all heav'd a sigh, 
 Or tear-drops trickled from each eye. 
 When that was lighted with a smile, 
 He sorrow cou'd of pain beguile ;
 
 45 
 
 And, when he spoke with voice of thunder, 
 He rent the rugged heart asunder. 
 
 Presuming on his wond'rous pow'r, 
 It chanc'd that, in a social hour, 
 (For he, at times, was prone to in nth 
 As any jovial son of earth), 
 It chanc'd, I say, that, o'er the bowl, 
 When Wisdom loses her control, 
 That he a random wager laid, 
 And down the stipulation paid, 
 That, when in Conventicle next, 
 He, from the rostrum, gave a text, 
 He wou'd, in midst of an oration 
 To his surrounding congregation, 
 While o'er them mounted up on high, 
 Make one half laugh, — the other cry ; 
 And that more wonder might be in it, 
 This they shou'd do the self-same minute ; 
 One part with mouths stretch'd to their ears, 
 The other part dissolv'd in tears. 
 
 East, west, north, south, the tidings flew 
 Of an experiment so new, 
 That, when the day for sermon came, 
 E'en Sabbath-breakers caught the flame 
 Of curiosity to see 
 So singular a prodigy, — 
 Went, where they had not been before — 
 Within a place-of- worship-door :
 
 46 
 
 So that, tho' winter then with snow 
 Had chill'd all Nature's genial glow, 
 Yet was the Meeting-house so full, 
 That all were warm as wrapt in wool. 
 
 The moment came of expectation, 
 To hear the wonderful oration, 
 When eyes and ears were clear' d alike, 
 To note what might their fancy strike ; 
 When the liirht-hearted were determin'd 
 To sit as serious Judges ermin'd ; 
 While all the gloomy and morose 
 Determin'd were to seem jocose, 
 On purpose to defeat the plan 
 Of so eccentrical a man. 
 But he, amid the full convention, 
 Appear'd, as usual, all attention ; 
 Wearing, in his benignant eye, 
 The very soul of Charity. 
 
 Sedate he rose amid the throng, 
 Who chanted a prelusive song ; 
 And, neither flurried nor perplex'd, 
 Promulgated his ready text. 
 The theme pathetic, form'd to please, 
 And yet to move, — by slow degrees, 
 He manag'd with consummate skill, — 
 Swaying the passions at his will, 
 Till those who sate in front, o'ercome 
 By Feeling, were no longer dumb,
 
 47 
 
 But, sympathetic, sobb'd aloud ; 
 
 While equal numbers of the crowd, 
 
 Who stood or sate behind the rostrum, 
 
 As if infected by some nostrum 
 
 That sudden turn'd their heads with madness, 
 
 All, the same instant, laugh' d with gladness, — 
 
 Surprising those who sate before, 
 
 Who cou'd not see the open door, 
 
 Which hing'd upon the pulpit's rear, 
 
 Revealing spectacle most queer. 
 
 For, when the preacher's pathos drew 
 
 Tears from all those in ante view, 
 
 He slipt a string, that dropp'd, with ease, 
 
 His brogues capacious to his knees ; 
 
 Which set men's eyes abaft a glittering, 
 
 And all the women's tongues a tittering : 
 
 While, Spintext, unabash'd, went on, — 
 
 Conscious the wager he had won.
 
 48 
 
 THE GALLIGASKINS; 
 
 OR, EXCHANGE NO ROBBERY. 
 
 In those dark times when British Trade was 
 dead , 
 And lack of work occasion'd lack of bread, 
 Far from the land of iron and of coal, 
 Poor David thought that he wou'd take a stroll 
 To his own native hills and happy vales, 
 Ultra Sabrinam, fair romantic Wales. 
 For David had no gainful work to do, 
 Tho' willing he, as was his partner Sue, 
 A livelihood by honest means to earn, 
 And pay his room-rent on each week's return. 
 The fruits of labour long had ceas'd to share 
 Their prudent foresight, or diurnal care. 
 Labour% they lov'd : but Labour's wonted meed 
 Then fail'd them ; and they both were left in 
 
 need. 
 Susan repin'd at Fate's relentless sway, 
 And David, bricks cou'd make not without clay.
 
 49 
 
 The goods and chattels he cou'd call his own 
 Were left behind, without a sigh or groan. 
 One three-legg'd table, and two broken chairs, 
 Four old delf tea-cups, neither of them pairs, — 
 Their brittle partner-saucers, crack'd or lost, 
 (A penny more than all the crockery cost) 
 An oaken chest, which, like the cooler's stall, 
 Serv'd to hold boil'd, and roast, and bak'd, and 
 
 ail- 
 When he cou'd get them. This, his wife had seen, 
 For want of use, long time (how rare!) quite 
 
 clean. 
 What mortals call a bed — had David none : 
 That, to the pawn-shop, weeks ago had gone. 
 A sorry pallet, stuff'd with chaff or straw, 
 In which old Time had nibbled many a flaw, 
 Receiv'd his weary limbs and Susan's too, 
 Since weariness from daily toil they knew. 
 
 Stor'd thus with Poverty, he left a house, 
 Where, save his wife, there dwelt not e'en a 
 
 mouse ; 
 Case why ? there was not there or cheese or 
 
 meat 
 For hungry mouse to smell at or to eat. — 
 His crippled help-mate he was loth to leave, 
 Because he knew his loss her heart wou'd grieve. 
 But then the Parish, in her widow'd mood, 
 Must — what he cou'd not do — afford her food. 
 
 E
 
 50 
 
 So, plucking- up his courage and his brogues, 
 He took the course of home-deserting rogues : 
 That is, at break of one December-day, 
 As light in paunch as purse, he ran away. 
 
 But, ere his trotters, from his drear abode, 
 Had borne him far along the miry road, 
 Dangling', for sale hung out, at slop-shop side, 
 A pair of Galligaskins he espied. 
 " Odds zooks!" quoth he, " they nicely wou'd 
 
 me fit: 
 " Then will I, on this door-bench resting, sit ; 
 " And, none beholding, instantly will try them ; 
 " And, shou'd folks see, they'll think I mean to 
 buy them." 
 
 No sooner said than done : lie on the stump 
 Quickly to anchor brought his tatter' d rump : 
 Formany a rent was there, that caus'd each blast, 
 Like a fierce cur, to bite him as it pass'd. 
 The shopman then was taking with such zeal, 
 What David had not tasted — breakfast-meal, 
 That little did he ween he shou'd deplore 
 The barter going forwards at his door. 
 For David (simple man !) just then believ'd 
 Exchange no Robbery, unless perceiv'd. 
 
 Equipp'd, he started up, and straddling wide, 
 Stretch' d out a leg that grew on either side ; 
 Then, as a peacock proud, exclaiin'd with glee, 
 " These articles were surely made for me :
 
 51 
 
 " And, as they fit so nice, and look so fine, 
 "Dads bobs! for them, I'll leave the owner 
 
 mine." 
 Si rait way the hook, late grac'cl with better 
 
 gear, 
 Displayed the breeks of David, old and sere, 
 Resembling' what the birds regard with scorn — 
 A moppet swinging in a field of corn. 
 No need had he to trouble then himself 
 About transferring ought of pocket pelf; 
 Because his pockets were what Pat wou'd call 
 Pouches that held no pelf at all at all. 
 
 Supposing the transaction seen by none, 
 David opin'd he might as well be gone. 
 So, waiting not his slop-man friend to greet, 
 He, like a lap-wing, shot along the street. 
 
 Bat ah! tho' lame and blinking in her sight, 
 Justice will reach the robber in his flight.* 
 Whether he roam the earth, or cross the main, 
 He Honesty will find the greatest gain. 
 
 A cute old woman, just athwart the street, 
 Who kenn'd the culprit, on the wooden seat 
 Doff his old brogues, then — quick as wight at 
 
 play- 
 Put on the new ones, and pursue his way, 
 
 * Raw antecedentum scelestum 
 Dcseruit pede poena claudo. 
 
 Hot. 
 
 E 2
 
 K<r 
 
 2 
 
 She, at the shopman's door set up a yell* 
 " Here ! see what bum-bags you ha' got to sell." 
 — " Bless me !" cried he, " how came the trum- 
 pery there ? 
 " A pair of new ones gone too, I declare !" 
 — " Why, yon old chap, that's almost out of 
 
 sight, 
 " He struck the bargain, like a Yorkshire-bite." 
 — " The biter shall be bit," replied the man. 
 Then, with a cudgel, after him he ran. 
 " Stop thief! stop thief!" was instantly the cry : 
 While to escape, in vain did Davy try. 
 Like a poor hare pursu'd by many a hound, 
 Tho' wing'd by fear, he soon no safety found. 
 So have we seen, along some pebbly place, 
 Unpitying curs a yelping brother chase ; 
 Not to ffet off the kettle from his tail, 
 But, one and all, the suff'rer to assail. 
 Rattling he runs, the faster for his fright, 
 Yet, seiz'd and worried, ends at last his flight. 
 
 Thus, by a catch-pole, soon was Davy caught, 
 And, in a trice, " before his betters" brought. 
 Nor was it long, where clinking chains are 
 
 heard , 
 Ere he became a county-prison bird. 
 Stript of his borrow' tl plumes — the shopman's 
 
 brogues — 
 There was he cag'd with nnm'rous other rogues,
 
 53 
 
 Whose crimes were various as their looks and 
 
 names : 
 Yet rogues untrv'd no honest Muse defames. 
 
 What was become of David none could tell, — 
 The rambling- secret he had kept so well. 
 But his extr' ordinary bartering deed 
 80 rivall'd e'en the arrow in its speed, 
 Posting- along, untir'd, from door to door, 
 And setting all who heard it in a roar, 
 That his black cronies of the Collier-cast 
 Soon heard the tale, precisely as it pass"d. 
 
 Thus, when both good and ill report compete, 
 The swifter, ill is always found of feet ; 
 Nor does its ready utterance long refuse 
 To trumpet forth, for friends and foes, the news ; 
 Friends, sore to grieve, and bitter foes to tell 
 Tidings, which they, to learn, delight so well. 
 
 Davy's old helpmate was the first to hear 
 The change of quarters for her truant dear. 
 Pain'd to her soul that he shou'd run away, 
 Yet pain'd still more that he shou'd go astray, 
 She said, " Tho' he cou'd leave me all alone, 
 " In poverty to pine, — in grief to moan, — 
 " Still I with him captivity will share, 
 " Tho' bread and water be my only fare ; 
 " And shou'd they send him o'er the briny tide, 
 " David shall find his Susan by his side." (3) 
 
 Thus, like a cherub from the realms above, 
 Woman, whose soul is Tenderness and Love,
 
 5i 
 
 Is Man's best blessing' in the world below, 
 When cares perplex him, or when plung'd in 
 
 woe. 
 Let other friends forsake, or prove unjust, 
 Still, to her plighted faith, her mate may trust. 
 In dreariest scenes her smile will gild the gloom, 
 And her's be first and last the tears to wet his 
 
 tomb. 
 From the devoted Faithfulness which glow'd 
 In Susan's bosom, peradventure, ow'd 
 Some of her husband's comrades at the Pit 
 A pleasant ailment, call'd a gen'rous fit. 
 Tho' long* imwork'd the fields of Mine had been, 
 And nought but motionless machinery seen, — 
 An image of what then, o'er great and small, 
 Thro* out the nation cast a death-like pall ;* 
 Yet did the Butty's special message bring 
 A multitude around him, as their king. 
 A coal-pit bank the circus where they met, — 
 As Indian tribe, their faces black as jet. 
 Silent were all, and ready to obey 
 Whate'er their swarthy chieftain then shou'd say ; 
 When thus: " The 'Sizes will, mv lads!" he 
 
 cried, 
 " Now soon take place, when Davy must be 
 
 tried : 
 
 * lu the years 1810 and 1817.
 
 • )•> 
 
 " And tho' in pelf you do not now abound, 
 " Yet cou'd a little rhino-tat be found, 
 " To grease a Lawyer's chatterbox of wit, 
 '* I have a notion Davy would be 'quit. 
 " For, Money, my good lads, as you all know, 
 " Will make the Tongue, as well as Mare to go : 
 " And shou'd they proven what is said was done, 
 " The Counsellor will show 'twas all in fun." 
 " Well, then," said one, upon his haunches 
 sitting*, 
 Like an old Cambrian grand-dam at her knit- 
 ting, 
 All-independent as a tar at ease, 
 With his red garters tied beneath his knees, — 
 The band quite open, and the buttons loose, 
 As if they were for ornament — not use ; 
 He, blithe as lark and merry, said, " I'm willing 
 " To give, for Davy's sake, this shining shilling : 
 " And, if you'll trusten me, and put it down, 
 " I'll make that shining shilling auf a crown. — 
 " I'll do the saam," quoth his crony Ned ; — 
 " And so wull I :" — " and so wull I," they said, 
 Full thrice ten told. — " Why, then, my hearty 
 
 cocks," 
 Rejoin'd the Master, " here's the Bounty Box, 
 " With free-will offering from my privy purse, 
 " Will render Davy not at all the worse ; 
 " At least I hope so: for, tho' sometimes mellow, 
 " Davy, as you all know, 's a hearty fellow."
 
 o(3 
 
 — " Aye, that he is," said Bottle Boh, " when he 
 " Aught to devour before him ehauce to see : 
 " So hearty, and, withal, so dry a soul, 
 " That, if we heed him not, he'll stow the whole. 
 " The Bottle, as yo known, is made my care, 
 " And fairly deal I out each moil his share; 
 " But Davy always seems to have some doubt 
 " Whether the stingo, if 'tis good, be out : 
 " For he'll not trusten me, nor his own eyes ; 
 " But holds the vessel, rump-side, to the skies, 
 " Placing in his own mouth the throttle-top, 
 " That he may drain Sir Barley Corn's last drop. 
 " Howe'er, a safe return to him, I say, 
 " Tho' Trunks his naam be till his dying day." 
 
 The conference clos'd — the diner brethren 
 parted, 
 Pleas'd with the issue, and all happy-hearted : 
 Those to the ale-house, who had any pence, 
 These to their dwellings, who had better sense. 
 
 At length came on the dreaded day, not far, 
 When David must appear before the bar. 
 " A true bill found," lo! at the table green, 
 The big-wigs all, with aspect arch and keen, 
 Ey'd him, ere yet the wordy war began, 
 While sad before them quak'd the guilty man. 
 With hobbling gait, the witness soon appear'd, 
 In all her holiday adornments gear'd : 
 From whom poor David augur'd little good, 
 As, full in view, she unembarrass'd stood ;
 
 57 
 
 Who, after the accusing charge was done, 
 (Which made the theft as clear as mid-day sun) 
 Was thus address' d by David's Limb of Law : 
 " Come, now, old Goody, tell us all you saw." — 
 " All ? why, your Reverence, that there mon I 
 
 seed 
 " Take down the breeches— yes, I did, indeed : 
 " You all may lauf, and think it mighty queer; 
 " But it's as true as I myself am here." 
 — « Well, then, what next?"—" Why, on the 
 
 self-same hook, 
 " He hung his own, and odd they seem'd to look." 
 — " His own ? pray his own what?"—" Why, 
 
 ten to one, 
 " What you, your Reverence, 'neath your gown 
 
 have on." — 
 " Breeches, you mean, old lady, I suppose; 
 "Such as you wear yourself ?"— " No; things 
 
 like those 
 " I never wears." — " You don't? Will you now 
 
 swear 
 " That you do not at home the breeches wear?" 
 " That is, you rule your husband thro' the week : 
 " You are the Master,— he a Jerry Sneak." — 
 " No, Sir ; I'ne got no husband, — never had,— 
 " Nor child nor chick, to ca' its feather dad." — 
 " Well, then ; pray, Miss, (for such, it seems, I 
 
 must 
 " Now call you,) tell me, how can you be just,
 
 58 
 
 41 In giving- evidence, with steady face, 
 
 " Against the prisoner, in so strange a case ? 
 
 11 Because a modest Maiden, 1 am sure, 
 
 *.* To see him doff his brogues wou'd ne'er endure. 
 
 " And did you not thus see him, how, I pray, 
 
 " Can you pretend, Miss Modesty, to say, 
 
 " He hook'd his own unmentionable things? 
 
 " Thus Falsehood its own refutation brings.' ' 
 
 — " Well, but, Sir Prate-apace, look not so big ; 
 
 " I seed, as plain as now I see your wig, 
 
 " H is old brogues off, — the new ones on the hook ; 
 
 " And, in a twink, before I well cou'd look, 
 
 " Up the mon jump'd, my neighbour's goods to 
 
 reach ; 
 " Then, straddling wide, he pull'd them on his 
 
 breech ; 
 " And, when he'd hung his tatter'd trunks on 
 
 high, 
 ** He scamper'd off, as if he meant to fly.'' — 
 " So, then, thou prying prude, when nothing 
 
 more 
 " Was to be seen, you sought your neighbour's 
 
 door : 
 "Just like a tell-tale, who stands looking on, 
 Slyly to see a wicked action done, 
 And then, good creature! in her heart con- 
 tented, 
 She trumpets forth what she might have pre- 
 vented. 
 
 a 
 ft
 
 59 
 
 " Here, Gentlemen, who on the Jury sit, 
 " I rest rav case : and ye, I know, have wit 
 " Gravely to weigh this matter well together. 
 " The Prosecutor, Sirs, has lost no leather : 
 " For, the said Galligaskins, — there they lie — 
 " Are now restor'd — perhaps as clean and dry 
 " As when the prisoner tried if they would fit 
 
 him : 
 " Therefore, good Gentlemen, I know you'll 
 'quit him." 
 Ended this sapient speech, with solemn air 
 The ermin'd Judge, from his high-throned chair, 
 The contrite prisoner mildly thus address'd : 
 " I ask not now what passes in your breast; 
 " But only to be told, if any here 
 " Will to your former character appear?" 
 — " Why, yes, my Lord, 1 think my Master will, 
 " If he be call'd. He knows my working-skill; 
 " And he too knows, indeed, how I do live — " 
 " Have liv'd, you mean, my man. Well, let 
 
 him give 
 " Your character. — So, Sir, that man for you 
 " Once work'd : now, what the praise his ho- 
 nest due?" — 
 " Why, save the matter now before the Court, — 
 " And he, poor fellow ! seems right sorry for't. — 
 " I know not, tho' he loves his pipe and can, 
 " A more industrious, or more honest man," —
 
 GO 
 
 " A very seemly character indeed! 
 
 " Gentlemen of the Jury ! when agreed, 
 
 '* Give in your candid verdict : loud declare it : 
 
 " As here I sit, waiting' until I hear it." 
 
 The twelve wise men then strait way in their 
 
 box, 
 As if they look'd intent on fighting cocks, 
 All in a circle brought their noddles close, 
 Like patients sick, about, a nauseous dose 
 That seeks to find the way where it did enter, 
 To disembogue itself just in the centre.— 
 Not long, however, was their consultation ; 
 Nor had they need to make a long oration. 
 This was their verdict : " We have duly weigh'd 
 •' All that the learned counsellors have said 
 u For and against the prisoner, and do think, 
 " As sure as meat is meat, and drink is drink, 
 " That he mistook, while sitting all alone, 
 " The prosecutor's breeches for his own." — 
 " What, then, not guilty," said the Clerk of 
 
 Peace, 
 Who bade each whisper in the Court to cease. — 
 " No, Sir, not guilty of the crime of theft ; 
 " Because, for what he took, the prisoner left 
 " Another pair." — Stern Justice lost her frown, 
 And on the culprit look'd benignly down. 
 The aged Prases smil'd : th' obstreperous crowd, 
 With mouths from ear to ear, all laugh'd aloud.
 
 61 
 
 The Limbs of Law all shook with laughter too, 
 And from their perriwigs the powder Hew. 
 The very Prosecutor's phiz was mov'd : 
 But David most the verdict kind approv'd. 
 He danc'd for joy ; and soon, on dreary jail, 
 With heels as light as air, he turn'd his tail. 
 Homeward he trudg'd, resolv'd no more to stroll 
 From the good Land of Iron and of Coal.* 
 
 * " Solventur risu Tabuloe : tu missus abibis." 
 
 While all tlie Court with mirth are gay, 
 Thou, 'quitted culprit, go thy way.
 
 62 
 
 THE DISINTERESTED COMFORTERS, 
 
 M &&\c. 
 
 Where softest breezes ever blow, 
 
 And seldom chill'd with frost and snow, — 
 
 Near where swift Dart its current leads 
 
 Thro' lovely Devon's velvet meads, — 
 
 In calm contentment liv'd a hind, 
 
 Simple in manners and in mind ; 
 
 But, what his name, or where his cot, 
 
 Reader ! to thee it matters not. 
 
 His bread he earn'd by patient labour, 
 
 And gain'd the love of every neighbour. 
 
 Yet, howsoe'er the world befriend, 
 
 Misfortunes will the good attend. 
 
 [n manhood's prime, the peasant led 
 
 A partner to his lonely bed : 
 
 When, scarce, alas ! had summers twain 
 
 Maintain'd their bright and scorching reign, 
 
 Ere adverse fate his threshold cross'd, 
 
 By which, a favourite cow he lost.
 
 (J3 
 
 His herd its fellow never knew ; 
 
 And others better had but few. 
 
 Each morn it fili'd the whiten'd pail, 
 
 And even-tide ne'er saw it fail. 
 
 So docile, too, its nature prov'd, — 
 
 That John and Jane their Daisy lov'd, — 
 
 Daisy, its oft-repeated name, — 
 
 By which, when call'd, it duly came. 
 
 Complacent near them it wou'd stand, 
 
 And lick each kind caressing: hand. 
 
 The loss of such a valued Treasure, 
 
 Their source of profit and of pleasure, 
 
 Afflicted John with mod'rate grief, 
 
 But Jane rejected all relief. 
 
 The simple, tender-hearted creature 
 
 (Distress distorting every feature) 
 
 Refus'd all comfort, pin'd, and wept, 
 
 Till, sick'ning, in the grave she slept. 
 
 Poor John, far more afflicted now 
 Than when death robb'd him of his cow, 
 So much reduc'd became at last, 
 That he might for a ghost have pass'd. 
 His neighbours, at the change alarm'd, 
 With kind professions round him swarm 'd. 
 " 'Tis true," said one, " you've lost a wife, 
 
 As good as ever sweeten'd life : 
 
 But, don't despair, man ; pray look round ; 
 " As good, another may be found. 

 
 6i 
 
 " Such honest, sightly men as you 
 
 " May, in a trice, get wives enow. 
 
 " Five lasses J have, young and smart ; 
 
 " I'll give you one with all my heart. 
 
 " Come to the Wood lands : pick and choose : 
 
 " Ask which you will, I'll not refuse, 
 
 " I sha'n't dislike you for a Son: 
 
 " Please but the girl, and all is done." 
 
 Soon after him, another came, 
 Applauding 1 much a Sister's fame. 
 Another, to remove his care, 
 And drive away the fiend Despair, 
 With hobbling gait, and age oppressed, 
 Thus the sad widower address'd : 
 " I'm come, my friend, as morn's so fine, 
 " To take thee home with me to dine — 
 '* But, hey! the deuce! what! moping yet? 
 " Do, this good woman now forget. 
 *' Along with me, and thou shalt find 
 " A niece of mine to soothe thy mind. 
 " To boil a pot, or milk a cow, 
 " There's nobody knows better how. 
 " She'll keep a man from being poor, 
 " And has a fortune — pounds some score. 
 " The damsel, young and diligent, 
 " I know, will give thv heart content. — 
 " Come, thou with her shalt have some talk : 
 " 'Twill do thee good a mile to walk."
 
 65 
 
 Such guests as these, the man saw dozens ; 
 For some had friends, and some had cousins : 
 And some, to find (if truth were known) 
 A wife for him, wou'd lose their own. 
 At last he said, " a man, I trow, 
 " Had better, far, lose wife than cow. 
 Mine is now scarcely in her shroud, 
 When, lo ! my neighbours round me crowd, 
 To offer me the choice of twenty : 
 Wives, I perceive, there are in plenty. 
 " When died my Cow, was this the case ? 
 " Did they then offer to replace 
 " My loss ? Tis true, they pity'd, all : 
 " But then, mere pity's cost is small." 
 
 The moral, which my tale supplies, 
 A man may see without his eyes : 
 For, be he blind, or be he lame, 
 He'll find the matter just the same, 
 That some men are such sordid elves, 
 In serving- him, they serve themselves. 
 
 h 
 n 
 
 a 
 tt 
 
 F
 
 m 
 
 THE DESPOTIC PEDAGOGUE. 
 
 " 1I(: kept a sharp look-out for a false concord and — a flogging-. 11 
 
 Spirit of the Age. 
 
 In Borough town, on side of Tweed 
 (The soil to England's share decreed), 
 A Wight, elected to bear rule 
 O'er an endow'd Free Grammar School ,- 
 With power no sooner was invested, 
 Than, weening that with him it rested, 
 That pow'r supreme to exercise, 
 As seem'd discreet in his own eyes, 
 Which saw, in Chastisement, discretion, 
 For ev'ry, — e'en the least, transgression. 
 Horrific in his look and nod, 
 He so em ploy 'd the sceptral rod, 
 As not alone with dread to 'whelm 
 The youthful subjects of his realm, 
 But elder mortals to alarm 
 With the rough terrors of his arm, 
 Shou'd they, unlieens'd, dare to pop 
 Their heads into his Grammar-shop.
 
 07 
 
 For lie had heard of Busby's fame, 
 And Roger Ascham's rev 'rend name : 
 Yet, tho' not bless'd with their discerning*, 
 Nor half the tithe of cither's learning-, 
 He thought it better far to teach, 
 Not thro' the head, but thro' the breech; 
 Supplying" that so well with birch, 
 That, whether Physic, Bar, or Church, 
 Army, or Navy, or the State 
 Might chance to be his pupils' fate, 
 It was not his fault, if, self-will'd, 
 The station was not duly fill'd. 
 For, discipline no youngster lack'd, 
 Nor e'er complain'd he was not back'd, 
 In his pursuit of classic lore, 
 As much as boy in days of yore ; 
 Or, to evince his spirit good, 
 E'er fail'd to show he had not blood. 
 So that, for knowledge most profound 
 Of fundamentals, all around, 
 The Teacher had a reputation, 
 Surpass* d by no one in his station. 
 Strict in punctilio, as in book, 
 The Muse has said, none dar'd to look, 
 Unbidden, into the domain 
 Where he, despotic, held his reign. 
 They who transgress 1 d this standing rule, 
 Soon found themselves within the school ; 
 
 F 2
 
 08 
 
 Where youthful numbers strength o'erpower'd, 
 
 As flies will make a horse a coward. 
 
 Th' intruder Mercy might invoke, 
 
 And deprecate the threaten' d stroke ; 
 
 Yet prayers were vain. The sin, committed, 
 
 Its penalty was ne'er remitted. 
 
 That paid, the culprit went his way, 
 
 To tell whate'er he chose to say : 
 
 But seldom (from a sense of shame) 
 
 Did any one the favour name, 
 
 Concluding, that, tho' smarting long, 
 
 To tell tales oat of school were wrong. 
 
 Thus, when a Gascon has retreated, 
 
 Or dupe, at gaming has been cheated, 
 
 By Honour's statutes 'tis decreed, 
 
 Neither must blab th' inglorious deed. 
 
 That is, when Thraso, waxing pale, 
 
 On the fierce foe has turn'd his tail, — 
 
 And Aleator, such a ninny 
 
 Is, to be minus his last guinea, 
 
 Where, of full many a shining score, 
 
 He had been pigeon-pluck'd before, — 
 
 Fear of disgrace will render dumb 
 
 The loser of each plunder'd sum, 
 
 And bid the recreant Warrior keep 
 
 His act of Cowardice fast asleep. 
 
 But, whether shame be false or true, 
 
 Muse ! now thy playful course pursue.
 
 09 
 
 It chanc'd one day that, fresh from France, 
 A man who, walking-, seem'd to dance, 
 Approach'd the old scholastic Hall, 
 With one huge door in grey stone wall : 
 A door, whose massive ribs of oak 
 Its birth in former days bespoke. 
 Studded it was with many a nail, 
 As if an entrance to a jail. 
 Yet, that dread portal opening wide, 
 He, thrusting in his lean phiz, cried — 
 " Any Umbrellas vanted, Sar? 
 " Mine be de best in vorld, by gar !" 
 When, instant, to the Frenchman's wonder, 
 Was heard this mandate, loud as thunder, 
 " Portate Nequam : omnes ! cito: 
 " Hypodidascale ! turn ito," 
 
 Prompt to obey, they quickly caught him, 
 And to the post of penance brought him ; 
 Who ask'd, in French, with English blended, 
 " Vat ting it vas dat dey intended ?" 
 The despot's sole reply was, "quick ! 
 " And hold his tibia, if he kick :" 
 When "Switch! Switch!" birchy shrilly spoke, 
 And Monsieur answer' d ev'ry stroke 
 With loud concordant interjection, 
 Or intermingling oath's inflection: — 
 No pause was there, till stripes full twenty 
 Had been bestow'd — (the Doctor plenty
 
 70 
 
 Always administered at once, 
 
 To cure a Tyke or teach a dunce) — 
 
 Then thus: " Intruder vile ! depart; 
 
 " And thank yourself for all your smart." 
 
 His femoralia now adjusted, 
 The man his clench'd fist forward thrusted, 
 Saying, " O Rogue ! me vow, me swear, 
 " For dis, from me, you soon sail hear." 
 Away he wriggled to his Inn, 
 While every onstep made him grin. — 
 Enter'd, the Host and Hostess thought 
 The Man was certainly distraught, — 
 As he his cane shook like a Rapier, 
 Saying " Me do vant pen, ink, and papier." 
 These brought, a challenge soon he wrote, 
 Folded and sealed it as a note : 
 Then to Tom Boots said, " Dere! take dis 
 " To de grande school dat yonder is, 
 " And vait for someting." Oft' Tom went, 
 Whistling, and in his heart content; 
 Not doubting when his errand ended, 
 Of being paid, if not commended. 
 
 The Pedagogue his recent choler 
 Had scarce digested, when a scholar, 
 For misapplying Grammar-rule, 
 Was sentenc'd to the Penal-stool ; 
 But found a transient respite from 
 Its woe, by the enfrc of Tom,
 
 71 
 
 Who, bolting in, the challenge bearing-, 
 Deliver'd it, — then nodded, leering, 
 Now at this boy, and now at that, 
 With whom he'd play'd at Ball and Bat. 
 Poor Simpleton ! he not opining 
 What Fate, for him, was then designing. 
 
 But when the billet was read thro,' 
 The reader's face, late nearly blue, 
 Chang'd to all colours in a minute, 
 As if a varying flame were in it. 
 His very gown, with ampler swell, 
 A rising tempest seem'd to tell ; 
 While underneath his shaggy brow, 
 Enough to awe the wildest row,* 
 Between the lids' black murky lashes, 
 His eyes shot forth tremendous flashes. 
 
 Thus, wrong-way strok'd, a cat, i'th' dark, 
 Will corruscate, in many a spark, 
 And angrily, will spit and swear, 
 As if the de'il himself was there. 
 But his fierce ire the despot rein'd ; 
 And even speech, awhile restrain'd : 
 Then beckon 'd to him, free from noise, 
 An oft-tried band of senior boys. 
 
 * A modern term for a School-insurrection, or some such 
 disturbance, as may be quelled without the interference of a 
 Constable. — At present, the word is only honoured by admit- 
 tance into the Slang Dictionary.
 
 72 
 
 In Latin phrase lie bade them bind 
 
 Tom witli a running -noose behind ; 
 
 And then the cord inslanter twist, 
 
 To save from swinging' blows of fist. 
 
 For, strong and brawny made was he, 
 
 With limbs like branches of a tree. 
 
 A body-blow from these were worse 
 
 Than kick from any drayman's horse. 
 
 Therefore his arms they firmly bound, 
 
 And pinn'd his mill-posts to the ground ; 
 
 Till, quantum-sufficit of flogging 
 
 Having receiv'd, he went off jogging, 
 
 To find his sender, and soon found him, 
 
 With all his stock in trade around him ; 
 
 When, instant, darting at his craw, 
 
 He serv'd him out with summ'ry law, 
 
 Transferring, to the Frenchman's nose, 
 
 His birchen stripes, in blunter blows. 
 
 "There! there! Mounseer, take that,"" he cried, 
 
 " For the rough basting of my hide. 
 
 " You bade me ' vaitfor someting,' — rot you ! 
 
 " And you shall have it now I've got you. 
 
 " You put it in the letter, that 
 
 " The man should treat me with his cat : 
 
 " Confound you both ! while I have living, — 
 
 " You for the asking, — he for giving, — 
 
 " I will, Soupe Maigre! ne'er forget 
 
 " To pay, with interest full, my debt."
 
 73 
 
 Boots carried off the foul disgrace ; 
 And Monsieur went to wash his face ; 
 This, to tell hostler in the stable ; 
 And that, resolv'd, what he was able, 
 To do against the Man of Rule, 
 For castigation in the School ; 
 And also to requite the blows 
 Which Tom had planted on his nose. 
 Then, to and fro, awhile he strutted, 
 Much like a man uneven-footed, 
 Curs'd with a crop of corns unkind ; 
 Tho' all his ailment lay behind. 
 Causing him now to chasse on, 
 And now to stamp the floor upon : 
 Then (looking up to guess the weather) 
 The Pedagogue and Boots together 
 He wish'd, with other thoughts aimable, 
 Were posting to le vrai diable. 
 
 When thus he'd chew'd the cud a bit,- 
 As he cou'd better walk than sit, 
 He deem'd it best no more to say, 
 But pay his bill, and go his way.
 
 74 
 
 THE NOBLE-MINDED SOLDIER, 
 n Dramatic acenc. 
 
 PERSONS. 
 
 CYRUS, Monarch of Persia:— ART AXES, a young Prince, 
 and Kinsman of Cyrus:— HASSAN, a young Persian 
 Soldier: — Nobles, in attendance. 
 
 SCENE. 
 
 A Tent, near the Palace of Cyrus ; who is seated on a throne, 
 attended by Artaxes and Nobles. 
 
 OCCASION. 
 
 Artaxes having been twice overcome in an Olympic race by 
 Hassan, a young private Soldier, Cyrus perceives his 
 dejection, and thus addresses him : 
 
 Cyrus. 
 
 Forbear repinings, Prince ! another time 
 
 Thou may'st contend, and win the envied prize. 
 
 Remember, thou wert second at the goal : 
 
 An honour that, amid competitors 
 
 So eminent and many. When again 
 
 The lists are enter'd, thou may'st be the first.
 
 75 
 
 Ar taxes. 
 Ah, never, Sire! if the same youth contend, 
 Who was victorious in the race to-day : 
 And should he not contend, say, what renown 
 Would follow conquest ? — How his high-bred 
 
 steed, 
 Obedient to its skilful master's hand, 
 Flew, swift as light, along- the sounding' plain ! 
 For ever in my mind — the graceful youth 
 I see in every thing". — What dignity ! 
 And yet what modesty, did he display, 
 When, conq'ring me the second time, he took 
 The laurel- wreath his prize! 
 
 Cyrus. 
 Thy praise is generous ; 
 And, thus in praising him, thou shew'st thyself 
 Magnanimous and amiable as he. 
 For, who thus speaks of a victorious rival, 
 That in the field of Glory has surpass'd him, 
 Must have a noble soul : and this inspires 
 My more than wonted love, Artaxes ! for thee. 
 But I would see the youth, who from thee 
 
 won 
 The prize ; and what is more, who from thee 
 
 wins 
 Such admiration.
 
 76 
 
 Courtier. 
 That, my liege, thou may'st, 
 And instantly ; for him, ere while, I saw, 
 Before the Tent. 
 
 Cyrus. 
 Conduct him in, my Lord. 
 (Ar taxes retires behind the Throne of Cyrus.) 
 
 Cyrus. 
 Ai taxes! whither art thou going hence? 
 
 Ar taxes. 
 To hide myself behind thee ; lest he see 
 My cheek by shame with blushes deep suffus'd. 
 
 Courtier (re-entering with the young Soldier). 
 Lo ! here he comes. I found him with his com- 
 rades, 
 Distributing, in equal shares among them, 
 The thousand golden pieces he had won. 
 
 Cyrus (to the Soldier). 
 Was that well done? — and, wherefore done? I 
 
 pray. 
 The prize / gave : — dost thou despise my gift ? 
 
 Soldier, 
 
 No, my too gcn'rous Liege ! the prize out-went
 
 77 
 
 My poor deserts. This Laurel I retain, 
 
 And hold it dear ; — so dear— that aught besides 
 
 I deem of little worth. For — (he stops short.) 
 
 Cyras. 
 Why that pause ? 
 Speak freely, soldier ; nor let modesty 
 Frustrate the purpose of thy timid tongue. 
 
 Soldier, 
 
 For Fame alone, great Sire ! I did contend -, 
 And that I gain'd. Was it not, therefore, just, 
 That, all above the prize at which I aim'd, 
 My fellow Soldiers equally shou'd share ? 
 
 Cyrus. 
 
 Most noble-minded Youth ! how widely err 
 Those sland'rers of Mankind, who idly think 
 Greatness of Soul can only dwell with Grandeur! 
 Like yonder Sun encanopied in gold, 
 That shames our mimic state, its warmth per- 
 vades 
 The whole unnumber'd family of Man, — 
 Glowing in bosoms, which capricious fortune 
 Deprives of power to show it, oft more bright 
 Than in the breast of Kings. — Beneath that Sun 
 No Monarch boasts a nation brave as mine, 
 If there be many Subjects such as Thou.
 
 78 
 
 — But tell me, tho" 1 thou deem that wreath so dear, 
 As aught beside to think of little worth, 
 Would'st thou the Steed, that bore thee to the 
 
 prize, 
 Barter for Gold ? 
 
 Soldier. 
 Not for a mine, my Liege ! 
 
 Cyrus. 
 But for a post of Honour? 
 
 Soldier. 
 Not for Realms. 
 Yet would I to a friend, without a sigh, 
 Resign him, — shou'd one worthy of the name 
 Request him from me. 
 
 Arlaxes (rushing from behind the throne, to em- 
 brace him with open arms). 
 Let that friend be me ! — 
 Embrace, — Embrace me, O thou first of Men ! 
 
 Soldier, 
 
 How willingly ! if thou wcrt not a Prince : 
 But, as thou art, I dare not (retreating) . 
 
 Arlaxes. 
 What ! too high for Thee ? 
 Take half my Province : then we shall be equals.
 
 79 
 
 The gain will all be mine, in gaining Thee. 
 I do entreat, embrace me. 
 
 Soldier (continuing to retreat from him). 
 I dare not; 
 
 For thou art my Commander, — far above me. 
 Besides (forgive me) to become a Prince 
 I cannot venture : I, who find, too oft, 
 No master in myself, how shou'd I learn 
 To g'overn others ? 
 
 Cyrus (starting in rapture from his throne.) 
 Oh ! how poor am I ! — 
 Have I, in all my vast and rich Dominions, 
 Enough to recompense so g-reat a Soul ? 
 — Warrior ! in Battle — chiefest in Command — 
 Fight thou beside me. Cyrus this entreats : 
 And to embrace Artaxes and myself, 
 Thy king commands. 
 
 Soldier (after embracing, to Cyrus). 
 
 True Gratitude is silent. 
 (To Artaxes j after embracing him). 
 Ingenuous Prince ! my warm Esteem accept, 
 Till I am worthy of thy Friendship) found. 
 — Behold the Pledge. (Dividing the laurel crown) 
 
 The half of this be thine : 
 Thou, next to me, did'st reach the envied goal.
 
 80 
 
 A r taxes. 
 Most welcome pledge from Thee ! from other 
 
 hands 
 Scorn' d as an Insult — as a proffer' d boon 
 Bestow'd in pity, what I conld not win. 
 — Ttms art thou, ev'ry way, my Conqueror, 
 Turning* the passions of my wayward nature 
 Into the course of Virtue. — Thy esteem 
 My bosom treasures, and will ever prize, 
 More than the smiles and friendships of the world : 
 How valued then thy friendship, but withheld 
 Till I can win it from Thee by such deeds 
 As dignify mankind, and make them blest. 
 These — having* interchange of mind with Thee — 
 Must, as Camelions oft derive their hue 
 From objects near, soon be inspired by Thee. 
 Exalted then most truly by thy Friendship, 
 One mighty Soul pervading- our two natures, 
 Thro' the thick ranks of Persia's Foes, our Swords 
 Shall, like the Bolts of dread Olympian Jove, 
 Spread Devastation. 
 
 Cyrus. 
 Prince! thy ready zeal 
 Merits applause : but if my earnest prayer 
 Ascend high Heav'n — soon, soon wide-wasting 
 
 War, 
 Follow'd by Widows' shrieks, and Orphans' cries,
 
 81 
 
 Will cast away her Garments roll'd in Blood, 
 And cease to desolate and curse the Earth. 
 
 Oh, were my power accordant with my wish 
 
 For universal Peace, the blood-stain' d sword 
 Should soon the Rustic plough-share's form 
 
 assume : 
 The murd'rous Spear, transform 'd by smiling 
 
 Art— 
 Shou'd, to the Shepherd's gentle hand consign'd, 
 Become a Crook to guard his Fleecy charge : 
 The Trumpet's clangors, to the Lute's soft sounds, 
 Should yield through all the Nations, and man- 
 kind, 
 In union sweet, walk down the vale of life, 
 As children of one Father, who delights 
 To witness their felicity, — their love. 
 
 Haste to the Banquet, which awaits our 
 
 presence — 
 And, happy all, in adding to our train 
 This noble Youth, fill, fill the Goblet high 
 For this libation — Peace to all the World ! 
 
 (Exeunt omnes.) 
 
 a
 
 82 
 
 THE LIAR, 
 & SFalc. 
 
 " To shame a Liar, tell a greater Lie." 
 
 A coxcomb, that awhile from home 
 Has been, thro' foreign climes to roam, 
 Wou'd have us think his favour'd eyes 
 Saw what Munchausen wou'd surprise. 
 At one place, hares as large as hogs, 
 And horses are as small as dog's : 
 While, at another, birds ne'er fly, 
 And beasts, on earth but seldom lie. 
 Those love the ground ; and these repair 
 To prance and caper in the air. 
 Here trees on waves are seen to grow, — 
 There, waves o'er hills, are seen to flow. 
 Here seas of liquid burning glass 
 By shores of smoking lava pass. 
 There mountains on huge mountains rise, 
 Till their high summits touch the skies. 
 
 All these phcenomena, and more 
 Did Wilding, when abroad explore :
 
 83 
 
 Nor had there aught uncommon been, 
 How strange soever to be seen, 
 But this fam'd wonder-monger beau 
 Something more strange was sure to know. 
 
 One eve, in social circle seated, 
 So good the cheer, that none retreated : 
 The lean were pleas'd, — loud laugh'd the fat, 
 " Some talk'd of this thing, — some of that ;? 
 Till one, among the rest, — a Tar, — 
 The subject drew to arms and war. 
 All themes to Wilding were alike, 
 Who, into each, was sure to strike. 
 To whom the Tar : " Did you, Sir Rover, 
 " Who say you've travell'd Europe over, 
 " The Cannon ever see at Dover? 
 " Sure, no where else, beneath the sun, 
 " Is to be seen so large a gun !" 
 — " That large ?" said Wilding, in a fury, 
 " A pocket-pistol ! I assure ye, 
 " To one I saw, as once I traced, 
 "In caravan, Arabia's waste. 
 " With camels, train'd, both fleet and strong', 
 " O'er the wide sands we roll'd along. 
 " 'Twas at that season of the year 
 " When skies from storms are seldom clear. 
 " The lightning flash'd — we look'd around : 
 " No covert cheer'd the desart ground ; 
 
 G 2
 
 84 
 
 " Till, — tho' a tedious space between, — 
 
 " A Mortar , of vast size, was seen : 
 
 " Tow'rds which, with speed, our course we bent ; 
 
 " Arriv'd — dash in, our camels went. 
 
 " Our carriage, too, bowl'd onward straight, 
 
 •* As it had been a city gate : 
 
 " And tho' our camels, Sir, were four, 
 
 " It wou'd have held as many more." 
 
 Amazement seiz'd the listening throng, 
 And Silence chain'd awhile each tongue. 
 One look'd aloft, as pale as death : 
 Another cried, " a Bouncer, 'faith!" 
 " A Bouncer? — aye, and Thunderer, too, 
 " As big as thunder-bolt e'er threw ! — 
 " Sir, in the storm, pray did it thunder ?" — 
 " No, Sir." — " Egad ! it was no wonder: 
 " And owing to this very cause — 
 " Your stopping up the Thunderer's jaws : 
 " For, had it thundcr'd, 'tis well known, 
 " You, into hail-stones, had been blown." 
 
 Thus, every one, alternate, lash'd him ; 
 But very little all abash'd him. 
 He only star'd, and look'd askew, 
 Then said, " Nay, demme, Sirs, 'tis true." 
 " True?" said a Wag, " as words of hermit : 
 ' And, if you please, 1 will confirm it." 
 
 Wilding, at this, forsook his chair, — 
 Bow'd low his thanks, — look'd debonair,
 
 85 
 
 And begg'd he wou'd ; to free his name 
 From such imputed causeless shame. 
 
 " Why, Sir, the very storm you mention, 
 " My mem'ry still has in retention, — 
 " Were not as large as is my thumb 
 " The hail-stones ?" — " Yes, good Sir, and some 
 " Larger than magnum bonum plum." 
 " — They might be. I remember well 
 " Upon our coach like balls they fell : 
 " For, at the time, myself was there, 
 " And saw you for the place repair ; 
 " Which we suppos'd to be a tavern, 
 " Or some Banditti's dismal cavern : 
 " Wide-yawning tow'rds the fiery south, 
 " It op'd its dark stupendous mouth ; 
 " While, blustering from the angry north, 
 " Came the resistless tempest forth, 
 " Up-drifting to the Mortar's chin 
 " The sand, to let you gallop in. 
 " When, with such ease, your carriage enter'd, 
 " Instant, to follow you, we ventur'd. 
 
 " On this agreed, two camels more, 
 " We harness' d to our other four : 
 " And, thus equipp'd, away we drove, 
 " Surrounded by the flames of Jove. 
 " — My friends, you stare, — as if were craz'd 
 " Or you or I : — don't be amaz'd — 
 " Away we drove towards the Mortar, 
 " Where Wilding stood just like a porter;
 
 86 
 
 " Right into which our carriage drew, — 
 " And his — out of the touch-hole flew I" 
 
 Here ceas'd the wag- : and taunting' jest 
 Escap'd the mouth of every guest, 
 Who own'd the satire to be just ; 
 While Wilding bit his lips, and blnsh'd ; 
 Convinc'd that every Liar's Name 
 Must be the sport of Scorn and Shame.
 
 87 
 
 THE BEGGARS, 
 3n Istioguf . 
 
 lllo sua; non iuimemor arti*, 
 Omnia transformat sese in miracula rerum. 
 Mendici, mimi, balatrones. 
 
 PERSONS. 
 
 JERRY BANTOM,— feigning himself lame. 
 
 TOM BLINKER,— feigning himself blind, 
 
 A Press Gang. 
 
 SCENE. 
 
 An old Hovel, near a Town. 
 
 SEASON. 
 
 Wet November. 
 
 Where an old hovel, — half its rafters bare, 
 The other half not proof from rain and air, 
 Op'd its bleak door, — alas ! door was there none ; 
 Plank after plank, long since the whole were 
 gone :
 
 88 
 
 Yet thither, as no better shed was nigh, 
 Did Beggars twain from showery torrents hie. 
 For, dun November spread its horrors drear, 
 To blast the remnant-beauties of the year. 
 Splash, splash, in mud and dirt, thro' thick and 
 
 thin, 
 Their rags all soak'd with rain, their throats 
 
 with gin : 
 Arriv'd, no care their rugged bosoms knew 
 Tho' round them, loud, the wild winds whistling 
 
 blew. 
 Soon the hoarse laugh, — the stale and vulgar 
 
 joke 
 The heart at ease, and mind uncultur'd spoke. 
 At last the secrets of their vagrant trade 
 Each, in his turn, ingenuous, thus betray 'd : 
 
 Jerry Bantom. 
 Behold yon hedger ! toiling while it rains 
 Scarce earning bread and cheese by all his pains : 
 Fool that he is ! so like an ass to slave, 
 When he might live, and his old timbers save. 
 Five times his gets, and ten times better living- 
 Are mine to day, by simple people's giving. 
 This plaster'd limb — as sound as e'er was bone — 
 Expos'd from door to door, with whining tone, 
 Works wonders. Out the silly women pop, 
 And, into my old cap, the rhino drop,
 
 89 
 
 With "Ah, poor fellow! how cani'st thou so 
 
 lame." 
 "Good Lady!" quoth I, "by the lightning's 
 
 flame. 
 " While hard at work, it struck my arm and 
 
 leg, 
 " And forced me thus of christians good to beg." 
 " Poor man ! poor man!" then I repeated hear; 
 Nay, sometimes see in Beauty's eye a tear. 
 Who, of our craft, like me successful plies ? 
 Not thou, Tom Blinker, with thy two cock eyes. 
 
 Tom Blinker. 
 Hold there, Tom quick replied, from all I meet 
 In King's high- way, or in the crowded street, 
 With ditty sad, yet heart as light as feather, — 
 My eye-lids spliced with soften'd glue together, 
 My trade, long practis'd, I so featly ply, 
 That show'rs of ha'-pence, thick as from the sky 
 Now falls the rain, I win from passer's by. 
 Ha' -pence! said I? — the stars be bless' d ! no, 
 
 no; 
 Far better blunt is now mill'd at Soho.* 
 
 * At the Soho-Mint, near Birmingham, where the rimmed 
 Penny Pieces were coined, each weighing precisely one 
 ounce, or sixteen to the pound.
 
 90 
 
 Pence, heavy pence, we flash-name yellow 
 
 Jiounders j 
 And eke King George's sixteen royal pounders. 
 Rimm'd like a trencher, these come rattling- 
 down 
 From many a window, in each gaping town, 
 Till my old wallet, cramm'd with various store, 
 Like a stuff' d turkey-cock, will hold no more. 
 Then to a dram-shop, with my dog I pass, 
 And, for light-spirit, change my heavy brass. 
 When prim'd myself, my merry host I treat, 
 While jowler fattens on my offal meat. 
 Soon forth again I go, despising cold, 
 Till I make copper silver, — silver gold. 
 For, too well tutor' d by old Ruby-nose 
 Have I long been, to let the evening close 
 Ere my strong pouch is lin'd with white and 
 
 yellow : 
 Old Ruby, well you know, has scarce his fellow. 
 When but a chick in petticoats, he stole 
 Me from some gypsies, in their heedless stroll, 
 And taught me all the roguish arts he knew, — 
 Arts, Jerry Bantom, never known by you. 
 
 Jerry Bantom. 
 'Tis false, Tom Blinker, and thy boast I scorn : 
 Beggar begot was I, and beggar born. 
 Nay, more, my grand-dad and his fav'rite trull 
 That bore my dam, were of the science full.
 
 91 
 
 Her they well taught, before she gave me life, — 
 My mother she, but not my father's wife. 
 She, far experter than old Ruby-nose, 
 Did, to her brat, each begging art disclose. — 
 So that, for you to hector thus o'er me, 
 Is just as if you call'd that ditch a sea. 
 Yet, Blinker, I will give the de'il his due, 
 And say in what I am less skill d than you. 
 Nay, you might all our vagrant tribe defy, 
 If you could beg, as well as you can lie. 
 
 Blinker. 
 " Take that, thou boaster," Blinker said, and 
 
 down 
 He Jerry knock'd, with stroke upon his crown. 
 From either's mazzard, soon the claret flows ; 
 Severe the combat, and well-dealt the blows: 
 Glory the prize ; and the offence as dire 
 As when two heroes take their ground to fire 
 With deadly pistol, — doom'd that one shou'd fall, 
 These by the fist, and those by murd'rous ball. 
 Vengeance the diff'rent combatants alike 
 Inflames with choler and provokes to strife : 
 And spurious Honour gives her laws and rules 
 While Wisdom brands them equally as fools. 
 
 But come, my Muse, and quit politer strife, 
 Which ends in loss of blood, — oft loss of life : 
 Come, and in unambitious numbers tell 
 What fate these humbler duellists befel.
 
 92 
 
 Say, how with ire, and smuggled Spirit hot, 
 Fictitious Lameness now his crutch forgot : 
 That arm, late useless, now the better limb 
 Became, and really made false Blindness dim. 
 Fierce as two mastiffs, thus, alternate blows 
 Long had they levell'd at each others nose, 
 When, lo ! a Press-gang timely interpose. 
 
 " What," safd the Captain, " Shipmates ! 
 
 have we here ? 
 " Avast, my lads, and for our Tender steer. 
 " As fighting seems to suit your taste and will, 
 " Of that you soon shall have a heartv fill. 
 " Britain's proud foes shall feel your strength of 
 
 bone : 
 " So, then, my honies! let yourselves alone." — 
 He said ; and straight convey'd them thro' the 
 
 rain, 
 Beggars no more, but monarchs of the main.
 
 93 
 
 THE BEGGARS. 
 ISclogut tfje $econir. 
 
 PERSONS. 
 BRASSY and MARY. 
 
 SCENE. 
 
 Near Richmond. 
 
 SEASON. 
 Spring. 
 
 When Nature deck'd her Surrey's lovely 
 
 Sheen 
 With new-born flowers and freshest emerald 
 
 green, 
 A female, ill-attir'd in once-blue vest, — 
 Emblem of frame impair'd, — of mind distrest, — 
 Sunk, wearied, down, close by the highway side, 
 Where Barnes its level common stretches wide.
 
 94 
 
 Her pale lips parch'd, — her thoughts absorb'd in 
 
 woe, 
 Able, no farther, were her feet to go ; 
 When, sudden, kindling in her heart surprise, 
 A well-known youth approach'd her streaming* 
 
 eyes, 
 Who thus, ere well their friendly hands cou'd 
 
 meet, 
 Did, on this wise, the sorrowing damsel greet : 
 
 Brassy. 
 Mary ! how glum, how woe-begone, and lean 
 Thou'rt grown, since, last, by Brassy thou wert 
 
 seen ! 
 What ails thee, wench ? has any matter cross 
 Befal'n thee, to have caus'd so great a loss? 
 Plump as a partridge, both in breast and cheek, 
 Thou then did'st seem, and as a mole wert sleek. 
 What has produced in thee, of late, a change 
 So melancholy, and so passing strange ? 
 A chance, may be, that's nat'ral to a woman, 
 And, to our tribe, thou know'st, that's not un- 
 common, 
 Has happen'd, to have made thee look so thin, 
 And has another, to partake the sin ? 
 If so, my girl, when sprinkling* dinner comes, 
 A heartier spoke-dad, 'mong our rambling chums, 
 
 * Christening 1 .
 
 95 
 
 Thou wilt not find. Then wipe away that tear ; 
 
 And all thy tale of misery let me hear. 
 
 What, in thrice three months, has made thee so 
 
 thin, 
 That, snake-like, thou may'st now slip thro' thy 
 
 skin ? 
 
 Mary. 
 No, Brassy ; not what you so idly think 
 Has me befal'n ; nor loss of meat and drink ; 
 Tho' that, well-nigh to perishing, of late, 
 Yon heav'n, all-righteous, knows, has been my 
 
 fate: 
 And strange, to me, it seems that, thin as I 
 You don't appear. Pray, tell the reason why ? 
 
 Brassy. 
 That will I, Mary : and thou art a fool, 
 If thou learn not, at the same thrifty school. 
 For, since the Beaks* have put in force the Law, 
 Begging's a trade that is not worth a straw. 
 I therefore laid it by ; and left, for those, 
 My begging garb, who wish to frighten crows. 
 Under a hedge I dofFd it ; and desir'd 
 A stranger who, by travelling was tir'd, 
 To lend me his. Nay, gentle Mary, more, 
 I said, he must me pay for what I wore, 
 
 * Magistrates.
 
 90 
 
 As no man wou'tl another's livery wear, 
 Unless rewarded by some pounds a year. 
 One choice, indeed, he had, when I bereft him : 
 That is — put on the cast-off suit I left him, 
 Or march in buff along- the public road 
 To the next town, or Constable's abode ; 
 Which, well 1 saw, wou'd him engage awhile, 
 As he had counted blocks* of many a mile. 
 My speed of foot, as fleet as blows the wind, 
 Soon left my rags and him alike behind ; 
 Nor have I since been ask'd his borrowed skin 
 To give him back ; which I look better in, 
 By far, than he, — a waddling limping elf, — 
 Not so becoming them as I myself: 
 And, as thou know'st I love all sorts of work, 
 As much as Christian is belov'd by Turk, 
 I go on borrowing needed goods and pelf, 
 And enter creditor — my noble self. 
 
 Mary. 
 That is, you steal them. 
 
 Brassy, 
 
 Wench ! thou hast it right 
 And lo! the balance of my yester-ni<>ht. 
 
 * Mile-stones.
 
 97 
 
 This,* at one swoop, I, lindiscover'd, made; 
 Cent, per cent, profit, to my former trade. 
 Come, and go snacks : my partner shalt thou be ; 
 And none will roll in plenty more than we. 
 
 Mary. 
 No, never, in iniquity to live^ 
 Will I consent to share what you can give. 
 Beg, tho' I do, in vain, from door to door, 
 And am, as you behold me, starv'd and poor, 
 Yet am I honest ; and I onlv crave 
 That honest I may drop into my grave ! 
 Brassy, beware ! that, when you come to die, 
 Your life you end not wretched, — hung on high, 
 A horrid spectacle, by thousands view'd ; 
 Your own misdeeds by you, too late, then rued ! 
 Had I, like you, been taught to earn my bread, 
 Nightly, shou'd rest in peace, my pillow'd head; 
 And, daily, by assiduous labour won, 
 Wou'd I enjoy the fruits of what was done : 
 But (and the truth I now will all reveal) 
 Perhaps to make me more acutely feel, 
 Mine was the knowledge which I now deplore, 
 Deriv'd from pages of enlightening lore; 
 While a fond mother, ever good and kind, 
 Was careful most to form her daughter's mind. 
 
 * Shewing a richly-covered Pocket-book, containing 
 Bank-notes, &c. 
 
 H
 
 98 
 
 Still, born a beggar, on that mother's back, 
 
 Was I long carried, like a pedlar's pack ; 
 
 And, soon as able, on my naked feet, 
 
 Com pel I'd to trudge thro' many a flinty street ; 
 
 By a step-father, thus com pell' d, for bread, 
 
 And by an hireling crafty beldam led, 
 
 Wailing (no false pretence) to move each ear 
 
 To list, in pity ; and each eye a tear 
 
 To shed; that Charity might, prompt, bestow 
 
 Her ready boon to soothe such real woe. 
 
 Then, soon as added strength of youthful 
 
 frame, 
 With needed strength of voice and courage, 
 
 came, 
 Led by the hand of her who bore me long, 
 In womb and on her back, — the merry song 
 'Twas ours, in parts, along the streets to take, 
 When oft, with grief, our hearts were fain to 
 
 break. 
 For, she had better lot, in early life, 
 Ere she became my second father's wife; 
 And still with good advice my mind wou'd store, 
 Exhorting me to rectitude, tho' poor. 
 — She died ! and, with her died my only Friend ! 
 Yet, with her life, her Counsel did not end : 
 That, from my mem'ry ne'er will fade away, — 
 No, not when (-onus my own departing day : 
 \ day, methinks, approaching swiftly near; 
 Which 1 shall welcome, more in hope than fear,
 
 99 
 
 She ceas'd: while sobbings swell'd her 
 
 gentle breast, 
 As if her heart wou'd fly, to be at rest, 
 Thro' the white tenement, but ill conceal 'd, 
 Which ruffian winds, at intervals, reveal'd — 
 Then thus : — 
 
 Oh marvel not these tears are shed : 
 They fall for both the Living and the Dead. 
 Howe'er you think the tribute is not due, 
 They fall, I trust, not vainly, now for you. 
 — Hear me, my Brother ! — nay, to start forbear; 
 But calmly, Edward! our brief history hear : 
 That is your proper Name : the one you've borne 
 Was, by our tribe impos'd in idle scorn 
 Of sacred rite, — and fancied to apply 
 To you, because, whatever person nigh, 
 Restraint ne'er aw'd you. To conceal your 
 
 birth, 
 What thus arose from inconsiderate mirth, 
 Your father, in his apprehensions, chose 
 Shou'd be your name ; lest, haply, to his foes, 
 Some trace of him, his offspring might disclose. 
 1 am your elder : and this troublous scene 
 Scarce had I enter'd, when, for one serene, 
 My father journied thro' the vale of death, 
 And bless'd me with his last expiring breath : 
 A man, by station dignified ; but more 
 By the unsullied character he bore : 
 
 H 2
 
 100 
 
 As was your sire ; who, long, with honour clear, 
 Mov'd, on Life's stage, in Fashion's gayest sphere, 
 Till, plung'd in crime, he left Religion's guide, 
 And, for the deed, wou'd (Justiee-doom'd) have 
 
 died, 
 Had not a beggar's dark and subtle guise 
 Conceal'd the culprit from enquiring eyes. 
 Chang'd in complexion, gait, associates, dress, 
 Not his familiar friends the man might guess, 
 No more than he, tho', by his kindred seen, 
 The far-fam'd Beo^ar of old Betlmal Green. 
 
 Yet, tho' escaping awful Justice' pow'r, 
 Our hapless father had no tranquil hour. 
 Haunted he was with ever-during dread, 
 Till numbered, lately, with the unknown Dead ; 
 Not, as he wish'd, where our chaste mother died 
 That he might moulder by her faithful side ; 
 But, in a work-house, whither he was pass'd, 
 Did he, who peers had feasted, breathe his last! 
 
 As 'twas my lot, my brother ! had it been 
 Yours to behold that heart-distressing scene, 
 No wrong, — no thought of wrong, within your 
 
 breast 
 Would ever more permitted be to rest. 
 
 After the secret of our birth was giv'n, 
 And blessings on us were implor'd from heav'n, 
 Thro' Him who for the guilty shed that blood 
 Whose worth by Guilt alone is understood, —
 
 101 
 
 From the hard pallet lifting ii[> his head, 
 
 With hands still clasp'd in pray'r, he weeping 
 
 said, — 
 " Where is my Edward ? Ere I hence depart, 
 " Wou'd I con'd press him to my breaking heart ! 
 " Tell him," he cried, while struggling- with a 
 
 sigh, 
 " Righteous to live, that calmly he may die : 
 M Not like his wretched Father, lost to Good, 
 " Whose crime still claims his expiating blood. 
 " Did I but know, for his dear Mother's Love, 
 " Who's now a bright angelic Saint above, 
 " Tliat he the ways of Vice wou'd hence forsake, 
 " And to a virtuous course, repentant, take, 
 " Then shou'd I die in peace!" — His strength 
 
 no more 
 Permitted speech : — the tragic scene was o'er ! 
 — While Mary spake, her brother's cheeks, 
 
 unus'd 
 To such lustration, were with tears suffus'd : 
 When thus the Sister, by him oft caress'd, 
 These tender promptings of her heart address'd : — 
 Edward ! delighted, I those tokens see, 
 Whether of grief or penitence, in thee. 
 Oh ! may they to an alter'd conduct lead ! 
 Then will thy Father's Spirit joy indeed, 
 For all his anxious thoughts, — for all his cares, 
 Which late were mingled with his dying pray'rs :
 
 102 
 
 Nor will a Sister's pray'rs, — a Sister's love* 
 For thee and thy conversion fruitless prove. 
 — Again embracing" her, he closely press' d 
 His throbbing heart to her warm yearning breast, 
 Then said, — 
 
 Brassy. 
 These guilty Spoils, oh! re-convey 
 To him from whom they were purloin'd away. 
 This costly case that held them, thee will tell 
 His name and mansion. Say what change 
 
 befel 
 The contrite culprit; who, tho' all unknown, 
 Will amply for the pardon'd wrong atone. 
 Nor shall these felon clothes reproach me more: 
 Them to the injur' d owner, too, restore. 
 This Letter will direct where he abides, — 
 Valued far more than all he lost besides. 
 'Tis from an aged parent j whose desire 
 Was to behold her Son and then expire. 
 O Parricide! that I shou'd him detain! — 
 Perhaps his parent and my own I've slain. — 
 To-morrow's sun will light thee on thy way, 
 When other garments shall my limbs arrav. 
 A peasant's simple dress will cover all 
 My late offending form, — the cost be small ; 
 In which, by honest labour, I will try 
 To earn, for thee and me, a scant supply,
 
 10:3 
 
 Till, at my proper culling-, ampler store 
 Provided be, and we will part no more. 
 
 The night-shades fall : and in some shelter'd 
 
 ground, 
 A lodging ere while known, will now be found. 
 There, will we, Mary, Sister, ever-dear! 
 Whom henceforth I shall honour and revere, 
 Near Richmond's matchless Hill, 'mid shady 
 
 trees, 
 With bodies wearied, yet with minds at ease, 
 Compose oar Spirits by refreshing" sleep, 
 While angels kind their guardian-vigils keep ; 
 Those friendly beings, who rejoice to know 
 That such a wretch as I am sav'd from woe. 
 
 Mary. 
 Brother! the sentiments you now impart 
 Fall, like soft dew, to cheer my drooping heart : 
 Nor less delights me the resolve you made, 
 Hence to abandon the deceitful trade 
 Of idle vagrancy. Too long this isle 
 Has been the dupe of Cunning and of Guile, 
 Where honest Feeling, ready to bestow, 
 Has been impos'd on by fictitious Woe. 
 Wisely, at last, and resolute on Good, 
 The Laws, such impositions have withstood, 
 Compelling Strength to earn its daily meat, 
 And leaving Idleness no food to eat,
 
 104 
 
 Sanctioned by Writ, vouchsaf d us from on biffh. 
 
 That teaches how to live, and how to die. 
 On its bless'd Truths let us repose our trust, 
 And He who gave it, who is Wise and Just, 
 Will, thro' our lives defend us by his pow'r, 
 
 And shed his Comfort on our dying hour. 
 
 The moon now rose ; the stars, with milder 
 light, 
 Like glittering gems, adorn* d the fields of night ; 
 When, arm in arm, by pure Affection led, 
 The kindred Pair soon found their leafy bed.(l)
 
 105 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 THE DISPUTED PEG. 
 
 (1) 
 Though " all are not such" who belong to this honour- 
 able profession, yet with many whose generous conduct 
 resembles this, the author has the happiness lo be acquainted* 
 — Gentlemen, who have more pleasure in foregoing the 
 gains of " filthy lucre" to promote " peace and good-will" 
 between contending parties, than they would derive from 
 the golden fruits of litigation— Men, who need not blush, on 
 reading the following amiable trait in the character of 
 Lindley Murray: — " In the practice of the Law, pecuniary 
 interest was not my only rule of action. When circum- 
 stances would probably admit of it, I generally endeavoured 
 to persuade the person who was threatened with a prosecu- 
 tion to pay the debt, or make satisfaction, without the 
 trouble and expence of a suit. In doubtful cases, I fre- 
 quently recommended a settlement of differences by arbitra- 
 tion, as the mode which I conceived would ultimately prove 
 most satisfactory to both parties. — I do not recollect that I 
 ever encouraged a client to proceed at law, when I thought 
 his cause was unjust or indefensible; but, in such cases, I 
 believe it was my invariable practice to discourage litigation, 
 and to recommend a peaceable settlement of differences. In
 
 106 
 
 the retrospect of this mode of practice 1 have always had 
 great satisfaction ; and I am persuaded that a different pro- 
 cedure would have been the source of many painful recol- 
 lections." — Life of Lindley Murray, pp. 42, 43. 
 
 To this ornament of a profession, that is made honourable 
 by such characters, the author adds the following particulars 
 concerning a gentleman of the same profession, whom he 
 well knew, and highly respected. Together, the biogra- 
 phical sketches form a pleasing pair of Law-portraits, whose 
 originals resembled each other in conduct and station. Both 
 of them retired from practice some years before they retired 
 from life ; and both of them were gifted with wealth, and an 
 amiable generosity of disposition, that enabled them to enjoy 
 the mild evening of their days in pleasantness and peace. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF JOHN KARVER, ESQ. 
 
 So ! honest John Karver has left us at last ; 
 
 And his Spirit, thro' heaven's bright portal has pass'd. 
 
 The years he had number'd were ninety and four ; 
 
 Yet all, who e'er knew him, the number wish'd more. 
 
 His wealth he bestow'd in relieving distress ; 
 
 And those he reliev'd, now his Memory bless. 
 
 Tho' Law was his practice, yet Peace was his pride ; 
 
 And, in peace as he liv'd, so he peacefully died. 
 
 He strove to prevail on his clients to smother 
 
 The risings of anger against one another ; 
 
 And the most severe language that ever he spoke, 
 
 When any one's spleen might his censure provoke, 
 
 Was — " he that refuses a wrong to forgive, 
 
 " Is unfit to die, and unworthy to live." 
 
 A Model for Lawyers, in country and town, 
 
 Who wish to arrive at or wealth or renown : 
 
 Let them imitate Karver ; be upright and just ; 
 
 Ne'er forgetting his Motto — " Be true to your Trust."
 
 107 
 
 They who follow his footsteps will pace on to fame; 
 And, like this good Man, leave, at death, a good Name. 
 
 The author has the happiness of knowing not a few, in the 
 profession, whose living conduct will suffer no disparage- 
 ment, when estimated according to the high staudard of 
 these honoured individuals. 
 
 THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 
 
 (2) 
 
 However incredible it seems, this is a fact. In an 
 opulent and populous town large sums were subscribed, and 
 a fund created, for establishing a Spa, that was to surpass 
 Harrogate and Keddlestone, because, more than those cele- 
 brated waters, this, in taste, resembled rotten eggs, and the 
 washings of foul gun-barrels. Baths were accordingly 
 formed, on the most improved plans ; contiguous accommo- 
 dation-apartments were finished, and a spacious public room 
 was nearly ready to receive the promenading votaries of 
 Hygeia — when, having exhausted the precious reservoir, 
 and delving to ascertain the cause of failure, it was disco- 
 vered the sapient projectors had tapped an old Town 
 Sewer ! 
 
 THE GALLIGASKINS. 
 
 " David shall find his Susan by his side." (3) 
 
 " He is a parricide to his Mother's name, 
 
 " And with an impious hand murthers her fame, 
 
 " That wrongs the praise of women ; that dares write 
 
 " Libels on saints ; or with foul ink requite 
 
 " The milk they gave us. Better Sex ! command 
 
 " To your defence my more religious hand,
 
 108 
 
 ' At sword, or pen. Your's was the nobler birth : 
 " For you of man were made,— man but of earth,— 
 " The son of dust : and tho' your sin did breed 
 " His fall, again you rais'd him in your seed. 
 " Adam, in sleep, a gainful loss sustain'd, 
 " Who, for one rib, a better self regain'd : 
 " Who, had he not your bless'd creation seen, 
 " An anchorite in Paradise had been." 
 
 Randolph.— Edition, 1 G64. 
 
 THE BEGGARS. 
 
 (4) 
 
 In Read's Weekly Journal for January C, 1731, is the 
 following account, from a correspondent : — " My house is 
 directly opposite to a great Church; and it was with much 
 pleasure I observed from my window, last Christmas-day, 
 the numerous poor that were very liberally relieved at the 
 doors. But my joy was soon over : for, no sooner had the 
 charitable congregation dispersed, than many of those who 
 before appeared the very pictures of misery forgot their 
 cant, and fell to quarrelling about the dividend. Oaths and 
 curses flew about among them very plentifully, and passion 
 grew so high, that they fell hard upon each others' faults.— 
 In short, I learnt, from their own mouths, that they were 
 impostors; and that, among their whole number, which was 
 very large, there was not one object of real charity. — When 
 they had tired themselves with scolding and quarrelling, 
 they very lovingly adjourned to a neighbouring dram-shop; 
 from whence they returned in a condition, neither fit for me 
 to describe, nor for you to hear." 
 
 John Brown, an aged beggar, who lately died at Brougli- 
 ton-Gift'ord, near Mclksham, was, in the early part of his 
 life, apprenticed to a weaver; and for a few years after he 
 arrived at maturity, followed his employment, working for
 
 109 
 
 a respectable clothier at Melksham. It is nearly forty years 
 since he became a mendicant, which lie continued until 
 within three days of his decease, on the 24th of September, 
 1825, at the advanced age of 77. 
 
 The circuit to which he confined himself in his excursions 
 did not extend much beyond the clothing district of Wilt- 
 shire, and part of the adjoining county of Somerset; but 
 his visits were generally very regular, and when rebuked 
 for repeating them too often, he would reply " that it was 
 so long since he came last" (mentioning the time), adding, 
 " and I come only once in so many weeks." Though in 
 general importunate in his supplications for charity, yet, 
 when refused, on the plea of there being nothing to bestow, 
 he would coolly observe, as he walked away> " Never mind, 
 never mind, it will do when I call next time." In some of 
 the villages at a distance from home he has appeared as a 
 silent petitioner, imploring the assistance of the spectators 
 by signs only. On such occasions he was known by the 
 name of the dumb man, and was generally successful in ob- 
 taining food or money ; but when seen by some of his neigh- 
 bours, and reproved for his deception, he has readily found 
 his speech, saying, "You mind your business, and I will 
 mind mine." He would sometimes observe to his neigh- 
 bours, on returning from his excusions, that he would rather 
 see the heads than the tails at the different houses he went 
 to : thereby insinuating that the masters and mistresses were 
 more attentive to his plea of distress than the servants. 
 When at a distance from any houses, he has been known to 
 accost the labourers in the field, begging a part of their 
 food, saying, he was nearly perishing for want; and so 
 meagre and abject was his appearance, and his manner of 
 imploring them so earnest, that he has been relieved by 
 those who could ill afford to part with a pittance of their 
 food. The plaintive manner in which he would solicit aid,
 
 110 
 
 his dejected and woe-worn appearance, and the wretched- 
 ness of his dress, would impart to those, ignorant of the 
 contrary, the idea of his being " a poor old man, whose 
 trembling limbs had borne him to their door." A few days 
 before his death he went to a gentleman's house, where he 
 had frequently been relieved, and invited one of the servants 
 to attend his funeral when he died, which he said would not 
 belong first; he entreated him to attend, whether he had 
 any further invitation or not. The hut in which Brown 
 lived and died corresponded with its inhabitant, exhibiting 
 " variety of wretchedness," — its exterior mean and dilapi- 
 dated in the extreme, — while its interior contained an as- 
 semblage of poverty, filth, and misapplied articles of value, 
 blended together without regard to order or discrimination. 
 This hovel (for it deserves not the name of a house) is about 
 fifteen feet in length, by five in breadth, and seven in height, 
 comprehending only one apartment ; and in this miserable 
 abode, its miserable inmate had huddled together the fol- 
 lowing, among other articles:— one poor bed and stead, four 
 chairs, three boxes, seven tea-kettles, four saucepans, five 
 frying-pans, two gridirons, ten pepper-boxes, four flour- 
 dredgers, forty table and tea-spoons, three tea-canisters, 
 four tea-trays, one hundred and twenty dowlas and Holland 
 shirts, one hundred and thirty pocket and neck handker- 
 chiefs, forty cravats or stocks of cambric muslin, twenty 
 pair of stockings, two night-caps, thirty- four pair of shoes, 
 entirely new, and a great number of old ones, three pair of 
 new buckskin breeches, and many the worse for wear, five 
 coats and four waistcoats, three pair of gaiters (new), six 
 hats — three narrow, and three broad brims, four smock 
 frocks, a silver watch and a pair of plated buckles for shoes, 
 a large quantity of old silver (shillings, &c.) which sold for 
 twelve pounds, at the rate of five-pence farthing per shilling, 
 and about three pounds worth of old sixpences, half-pence,
 
 Ill 
 
 and penny pieces, four large bags full of meat, in an ad- 
 vanced state of putrefaction, and about two bushels full of 
 pieces of cheese, too bad to be given to pigs. 
 
 In a neighbour's house Brown had deposited a large chest 
 and three boxes, full of linen, shoes, and other articles ; for 
 the preservation of which the person was paid ten pounds 
 after his decease. 
 
 Notwithstanding he had collected so large a quantity of 
 clothes, some of which were in excellent condition, he was 
 frequently known to go into neighbouring towns to purchase 
 wearing apparel, linen, &c. which on his return home he 
 would put away in a most incongruous manner — (as, for ex- 
 ample, a pair of old shoes, with rusted nails, wrapped up in 
 anew shirt) ; yet he would not leave his home otherwise than 
 in an old ragged suit, which betokened the most extreme 
 want, and added to the wretchedness of his appearance. 
 
 Upon dividing the property which was found, and which 
 is supposed to have included a considerable sum of money of 
 the present currency, (one statement having been published, 
 of there being upwards of one hundred and forty pounds 
 found in money, exclusive of other sums placed out at in- 
 terest,) it was apportioned to ten nephews and nieces ; but, 
 in the division thereof, considerable disturbances ensued, so 
 as to render it necessary to call in the aid of constables in 
 order to preserve the peace. 
 
 " Giving alms to able-bodied people," says Defoe, " is 
 no charity. Poverty does not lie among craving beggars ; 
 but among poor families, where the children are numerous, 
 and where death or sickness has deprived them of the labour 
 of their father. Such are the families which the sons and 
 daughters of affluence should seek out and relieve. Alms, 
 ill-directed, are an injury to the public, and a robbery of 
 the poor: as, what is thus given to the bad, the good should 
 receive."
 
 112 
 
 " The relief and support of common mendicants," says 
 Sir Thomas Bernard, " are far more wasteful and expensive 
 than of parochial paupers ; and the constant example of peo- 
 ple, fed and maintained without their own personal labour, 
 produces, on the minds of the industrious classes, a conti- 
 nual check to exertion." 
 
 " Alms, given in the street," say the Bath Society, 
 " without investigation, are bounties on idleness and fraud. 
 Every penny, so obtained, is a robbery from real distress." 
 
 " Poverty and misery," says Mr. Malthus, " have always 
 increased in proportion to indiscriminate charity." 
 
 " Till common begging is prevented," says the standard 
 author of Burn's Justice, " every attempt of the wisest Le- 
 gislation to ameliorate the condition of the poor, or to dimi- 
 nish the rates for their maintenance and comfort, will be 
 useless." 
 
 Lastly, says the wise Son of Sirach, " When thou wilt do 
 good, know to whom thou doest //." — Ecclesiasticus, xii. 1, 
 
 J. Smart, Piiiitei, W<.|vt-rli:iil)|>ttni.
 
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