Old Peter Grimes made fishing his employ; }

His wife he cabin'd with him and his boy, }

And seem'd that life laborious to enjoy. }

To town came quiet Peter with his fish,

And had of all a civil word and wish.

He left his trade upon the sabbath-day,

And took young Peter in his hand to pray;

But soon the stubborn boy from care broke loose,

At first refused, then added his abuse;

His father's love he scorn'd, his power defied, 10

But, being drunk, wept sorely when he died.

Yes! then he wept, and to his mind there came

Much of his conduct, and he felt the shame:--

How he had oft the good old man reviled,

And never paid the duty of a child;

How, when the father in his Bible read,

He in contempt and anger left the shed;

"It is the word of life," the parent cried;

--"This is the life itself," the boy replied;

And while old Peter in amazement stood, 20

Gave the hot spirit to his boiling blood;--

How he, with oath and furious speech, began

To prove his freedom and assert the man;

And when the parent check'd his impious rage,

How he had cursed the tyranny of age;--

Nay, once had dealt the sacrilegious blow

On his bare head, and laid his parent low;

The father groan'd--"If thou art old," said he,

"And hast a son--thou wilt remember me;

Thy mother left me in a happy time, 30

Thou kill'dst not her--Heav'n spares the double crime."

On an inn-settle, in his maudlin grief,

This he revolved, and drank for his relief.

Now lived the youth in freedom, but debarr'd

From constant pleasure, and he thought it hard;

Hard that he could not every wish obey,

But must awhile relinquish ale and play;

Hard! that he could not to his cards attend,

But must acquire the money he would spend.

With greedy eye he look'd on all he saw; 40

He knew not justice, and he laugh'd at law;

On all he mark'd he stretch'd his ready hand;

He fish'd by water, and he filch'd by land.

Oft in the night has Peter dropp'd his oar,

Fled from his boat and sought for prey on shore;

Oft up the hedge-row glided, on his back }

Bearing the orchard's produce in a sack, }

Or farm-yard load, tugg'd fiercely from the stack; }

And as these wrongs to greater numbers rose,

The more he look'd on all men as his foes. 50

He built a mud-wall'd hovel, where he kept

His various wealth, and there he oft-times slept;

But no success could please his cruel soul,

He wish'd for one to trouble and control;

He wanted some obedient boy to stand

And bear the blow of his outrageous hand;

And hoped to find in some propitious hour

A feeling creature subject to his power.

Peter had heard there were in London then--

Still have they being!--workhouse-clearing men, 60

Who, undisturb'd by feelings just or kind,

Would parish-boys to needy tradesmen bind;

They in their want a trifling sum would take,

And toiling slaves of piteous orphans make.

Such Peter sought, and, when a lad was found,

The sum was dealt him, and the slave was bound.

Some few in town observed in Peter's trap

A boy, with jacket blue and woollen cap;

But none inquired how Peter used the rope,

Or what the bruise, that made the stripling stoop; 70

None could the ridges on his back behold,

None sought him shiv'ring in the winter's cold;

None put the question--"Peter, dost thou give

The boy his food?--What, man! the lad must live:

Consider, Peter, let the child have bread,

He'll serve thee better if he's stroked and fed."

None reason'd thus--and some, on hearing cries,

Said calmly, "Grimes is at his exercise."

Pinn'd, beaten, cold, pinch'd, threaten'd, and abused--

His efforts punish'd and his food refused-- 80

Awake tormented--soon aroused from sleep--

Struck if he wept, and yet compell'd to weep:

The trembling boy dropp'd down and strove to pray,

Received a blow, and trembling turn'd away,

Or sobb'd and hid his piteous face;--while he,

The savage master, grinn'd in horrid glee:

He'd now the power he ever loved to show,

A feeling being subject to his blow.

Thus lived the lad, in hunger, peril, pain,

His tears despised, his supplications vain. 90

Compell'd by fear to lie, by need to steal,

His bed uneasy and unbless'd his meal,

For three sad years the boy his tortures bore;

And then his pains and trials were no more.

"How died he, Peter?" when the people said, }

He growl'd--"I found him lifeless in his bed;" }

Then tried for softer tone, and sigh'd, "Poor Sam is dead." }

Yet murmurs were there, and some questions ask'd--

How he was fed, how punish'd, and how task'd?

Much they suspected, but they little proved, 100

And Peter pass'd untroubled and unmoved.

Another boy with equal ease was found,

The money granted, and the victim bound;

And what his fate?--One night, it chanced he fell

From the boat's mast and perish'd in her well,

Where fish were living kept, and where the boy

(So reason'd men) could not himself destroy.

"Yes! so it was," said Peter; "in his play,

(For he was idle both by night and day,)

He climb'd the main-mast and then fell below;"-- 110

Then show'd his corpse and pointed to the blow;--

"What said the jury?"--They were long in doubt;

But sturdy Peter faced the matter out:

So they dismiss'd him, saying at the time,

"Keep fast your hatchway, when you've boys who climb."

This hit the conscience, and he colour'd more

Than for the closest questions put before.

Thus all his fears the verdict set aside,

And at the slave-shop Peter still applied.

Then came a boy, of manners soft and mild-- 120

Our seamen's wives with grief beheld the child;

All thought (the poor themselves) that he was one

Of gentle blood, some noble sinner's son,

Who had, belike, deceived some humble maid,

Whom he had first seduced and then betray'd.--

However this, he seem'd a gracious lad,

In grief submissive and with patience sad.

Passive he labour'd, till his slender frame

Bent with his loads, and he at length was lame;--

Strange that a frame so weak could bear so long 130

The grossest insult and the foulest wrong;

But there were causes--in the town they gave

Fire, food, and comfort, to the gentle slave;

And though stern Peter, with a cruel hand,

And knotted rope, enforced the rude command,

Yet he consider'd what he'd lately felt,

And his vile blows with selfish pity dealt.

One day such draughts the cruel fisher made

He could not vend them in his borough-trade,

But sail'd for London-mart; the boy was ill, 140

But ever humbled to his master's will;

And on the river, where they smoothly sail'd,

He strove with terror and awhile prevail'd;

But, new to danger on the angry sea,

He clung affrighten'd to his master's knee.

The boat grew leaky and the wind was strong,

Rough was the passage and the time was long;

His liquor fail'd, and Peter's wrath arose--

No more is known--the rest we must suppose,

Or learn of Peter;--Peter says, he "spied 150 }

The stripling's danger and for harbour tried; }

Meantime the fish, and then th' apprentice died." }

The pitying women raised a clamour round,

And weeping said, "Thou hast thy 'prentice drown'd."

Now the stern man was summon'd to the hall,

To tell his tale before the burghers all.

He gave th' account; profess'd the lad he loved,

And kept his brazen features all unmoved.

The mayor himself with tone severe replied,--

"Henceforth with thee shall never boy abide; 160

Hire thee a freeman, whom thou durst not beat,

But who, in thy despite, will sleep and eat.

Free thou art now!--again shouldst thou appear,

Thou'lt find thy sentence, like thy soul, severe."

Alas! for Peter not a helping hand,

So was he hated, could he now command;

Alone he row'd his boat; alone he cast

His nets beside, or made his anchor fast;

To hold a rope or hear a curse was none--

He toil'd and rail'd; he groan'd and swore alone. 170

Thus by himself compell'd to live each day,

To wait for certain hours the tide's delay;

At the same times the same dull views to see,

The bounding marsh-bank and the blighted tree;

The water only when the tides were high;

When low, the mud half-cover'd and half-dry;

The sun-burnt tar that blisters on the planks,

And bank-side stakes in their uneven ranks;

Heaps of entangled weeds that slowly float,

As the tide rolls by the impeded boat. 180

When tides were neap, and, in the sultry day,

Through the tall bounding mud-banks made their way,

Which on each side rose swelling, and below

The dark warm flood ran silently and slow:

There anchoring, Peter chose from man to hide, }

There hang his head, and view the lazy tide }

In its hot slimy channel slowly glide; }

Where the small eels that left the deeper way

For the warm shore, within the shallows play;

Where gaping muscles, left upon the mud, 190

Slope their slow passage to the fallen flood:--

Here dull and hopeless he'd lie down and trace

How sidelong crabs had scrawl'd their crooked race;

Or sadly listen to the tuneless cry

Of fishing gull or clanging golden-eye;

What time the sea-birds to the marsh would come, }

And the loud bittern, from the bull-rush home, }

Gave from the salt-ditch side the bellowing boom. }

He nursed the feelings these dull scenes produce,

And loved to stop beside the opening sluice; 200

Where the small stream, confined in narrow bound,

Ran with a dull, unvaried, sadd'ning sound;

Where all presented to the eye or ear

Oppress'd the soul with misery, grief, and fear.

Besides these objects, there were places three,

Which Peter seem'd with certain dread to see;

When he drew near them he would turn from each,

And loudly whistle till he pass'd the reach[71].

A change of scene to him brought no relief;

In town, 'twas plain, men took him for a thief: 210

The sailors' wives would stop him in the street,

And say, "Now, Peter, thou'st no boy to beat;"

Infants at play, when they perceived him, ran,

Warning each other--"That's the wicked man;"

He growl'd an oath, and in an angry tone

Cursed the whole place and wish'd to be alone.

Alone he was, the same dull scenes in view,

And still more gloomy in his sight they grew.

Though man he hated, yet employ'd alone

At bootless labour, he would swear and groan, 220

Cursing the shoals that glided by the spot,

And gulls that caught them when his arts could not.

Cold nervous tremblings shook his sturdy frame,

And strange disease--he couldn't say the name;

Wild were his dreams, and oft he rose in fright,

Waked by his view of horrors in the night--

Horrors that would the sternest minds amaze,

Horrors that demons might be proud to raise;

And, though he felt forsaken, grieved at heart, }

To think he lived from all mankind apart; 230 }

Yet, if a man approach'd, in terrors he would start. }

A winter pass'd since Peter saw the town,

And summer-lodgers were again come down;

These, idly curious, with their glasses spied

The ships in bay as anchored for the tide--

The river's craft--the bustle of the quay--

And sea-port views, which landmen love to see.

One, up the river, had a man and boat

Seen day by day, now anchor'd, now afloat;

Fisher he seem'd, yet used no net nor hook; 240 }

Of sea-fowl swimming by no heed he took, }

But on the gliding waves still fix'd his lazy look; }

At certain stations he would view the stream,

As if he stood bewilder'd in a dream,

Or that some power had chain'd him for a time,

To feel a curse or meditate on crime.

This known, some curious, some in pity went,

And others question'd--"Wretch, dost thou repent?"

He heard, he trembled, and in fear resign'd

His boat; new terror fill'd his restless mind; 250

Furious he grew, and up the country ran,

And there they seized him--a distemper'd man.--

Him we received; and to a parish-bed,

Follow'd and cursed, the groaning man was led.

Here when they saw him, whom they used to shun,

A lost, lone man, so harass'd and undone,

Our gentle females, ever prompt to feel,

Perceived compassion on their anger steal;

His crimes they could not from their memories blot;

But they were grieved, and trembled at his lot. 260

A priest too came, to whom his words are told;

And all the signs they shudder'd to behold.

"Look! look!" they cried; "his limbs with horror shake, }

And as he grinds his teeth, what noise they make! }

How glare his angry eyes, and yet he's not awake. }

See! what cold drops upon his forehead stand,

And how he clenches that broad bony hand."

The priest, attending, found he spoke at times

As one alluding to his fears and crimes:

"It was the fall," he mutter'd, "I can show 270

The manner how--I never struck a blow;"--

And then aloud--"Unhand me, free my chain;

On oath, he fell--it struck him to the brain;--

Why ask my father?--that old man will swear

Against my life; besides, he wasn't there;--

What, all agreed?--Am I to die to-day?--

My Lord, in mercy, give me time to pray."

Then, as they watch'd him, calmer he became,

And grew so weak he couldn't move his frame,

But murmuring spake--while they could see and hear 280

The start of terror and the groan of fear;

See the large dew-beads on his forehead rise,

And the cold death-drop glaze his sunken eyes;

Nor yet he died, but with unwonted force

Seem'd with some fancied being to discourse.

He knew not us, or with accustom'd art

He hid the knowledge, yet exposed his heart;

'Twas part confession and the rest defence,

A madman's tale, with gleams of waking sense.

"I'll tell you all," he said; "the very day 290

When the old man first placed them in my way:

My father's spirit--he who always tried

To give me trouble, when he lived and died--

When he was gone, he could not be content

To see my days in painful labour spent,

But would appoint his meetings, and he made

Me watch at these, and so neglect my trade.

"'Twas one hot noon, all silent, still, serene;

No living being had I lately seen;

I paddled up and down and dipp'd my net, 300

But (such his pleasure) I could nothing get--

A father's pleasure, when his toil was done,

To plague and torture thus an only son!

And so I sat and look'd upon the stream,

How it ran on, and felt as in a dream--

But dream it was not; no!--I fix'd my eyes

On the mid stream and saw the spirits rise;

I saw my father on the water stand,

And held a thin pale boy in either hand;

And there they glided ghastly on the top 310

Of the salt flood, and never touch'd a drop.

I would have struck them, but they knew th' intent,

And smiled upon the oar, and down they went.

"Now, from that day, whenever I began

To dip my net, there stood the hard old man--

He and those boys; I humbled me and pray'd

They would be gone;--they heeded not, but stay'd.

Nor could I turn, nor would the boat go by, }

But gazing on the spirits, there was I; }

They bade me leap to death, but I was loth to die. 320 }

And every day, as sure as day arose,

Would these three spirits meet me ere the close;

To hear and mark them daily was my doom,

And 'Come,' they said, with weak, sad voices, 'come.'

To row away with all my strength I try'd; }

But there were they, hard by me in the tide, }

The three unbodied forms--and 'Come,' still 'come,' they cried. }

"Fathers should pity--but this old man shook

His hoary locks, and froze me by a look.

Thrice, when I struck them, through the water came 330

A hollow groan that weakened all my frame;

'Father!' said I, 'have mercy!'--He replied,

I know not what--the angry spirit lied,--

'Didst thou not draw thy knife?' said he;--'Twas true,

But I had pity and my arm withdrew;

He cried for mercy which I kindly gave,

But he has no compassion in his grave.

"There were three places, where they ever rose;--

The whole long river has not such as those--

Places accursed, where, if a man remain, 340

He'll see the things which strike him to the brain;

And there they made me on my paddle lean,

And look at them for hours--accursed scene!

When they would glide to that smooth eddy-space,

Then bid me leap and join them in the place;

And at my groans each little villain sprite

Enjoy'd my pains and vanish'd in delight.

"In one fierce summer-day, when my poor brain

Was burning hot and cruel was my pain,

Then came this father-foe; and there he stood 350

With his two boys again upon the flood;

There was more mischief in their eyes, more glee

In their pale faces when they glared at me.

Still did they force me on the oar to rest,

And when they saw me fainting and oppress'd,

He, with his hand, the old man, scoop'd the flood,

And there came flame about him, mix'd with blood;

He bade me stoop and look upon the place,

Then flung the hot-red liquor in my face;

Burning it blazed, and then I roar'd for pain, 360

I thought the demons would have turn'd my brain.

"Still there they stood, and forced me to behold

A place of horrors--they cannot be told--

Where the flood open'd, there I heard the shriek

Of tortured guilt no earthly tongue can speak:

'All days alike! for ever!' did they say,

'And unremitted torments every day!'--

Yes, so they said;"--but here he ceased and gazed

On all around, affrighten'd and amazed;

And still he tried to speak, and look'd in dread 370

Of frighten'd females gathering round his bed;

Then dropp'd exhausted and appear'd at rest,

Till the strong foe the vital powers possess'd;

Then with an inward, broken voice he cried,

"Again they come," and mutter'd as he died.

FOOTNOTES:

[71] The reaches in a river are those parts which extend from point

to point. Johnson has not the word precisely in this sense; but it

is very common, and I believe used wheresoever a navigable river can

be found in this country.

LETTER XXIII.

_PRISONS._

Poena autem vehemens ac multò sævior illis,

Quas et Cæditius gravis invenit aut Rhadamanthus,

Nocte dieque suum gestare in pectore testem.

_Juvenal._ Sat. 13. ll. 197-9.

Think [our] former state a happy dream,

From which awaked, the truth of what we are

Shows us but this,--I am sworn brother now

To grim Necessity, and he and I

Will keep a league till death.

_Richard II._ [Act V. Sc. 1, ll. 18-22].

The Mind of Man accommodates itself to all Situations; Prisons

otherwise would be intolerable--Debtors; their different Kinds:

three particularly described; others more briefly--An arrested

Prisoner: his Account of his Feelings and his Situation--The

Alleviations of a Prison--Prisoners for Crimes--Two condemned: a

vindictive Female: a Highwayman--The Interval between Condemnation

and Execution--His Feelings as the Time approaches--His Dream.

LETTER XXIII.

_PRISONS._

'Tis well that man to all the varying states

Of good and ill his mind accommodates;

He not alone progressive grief sustains,

But soon submits to unexperienced pains.

Change after change, all climes his body bears,

His mind repeated shocks of changing cares;

Faith and fair virtue arm the nobler breast;

Hope and mere want of feeling aid the rest.

Or who could bear to lose the balmy air

Of summer's breath, from all things fresh and fair, 10

With all that man admires or loves below; }

All earth and water, wood and vale bestow, }

Where rosy pleasures smile, whence real blessings flow; }

With sight and sound of every kind that lives,

And crowning all with joy that freedom gives?

Who could from these, in some unhappy day,

Bear to be drawn by ruthless arms away

To the vile nuisance of a noisome room,

Where only insolence and misery come?

(Save that the curious will by chance appear, 20

Or some in pity drop a fruitless tear,)

To a damp prison, where the very sight

Of the warm sun is favour and not right;

Where all we hear or see the feelings shock,

The oath and groan, the fetter and the lock?

Who could bear this and live?--Oh! many a year

All this is borne, and miseries more severe;

And some there are, familiar with the scene,

Who live in mirth, though few become serene.

Far as I might the inward man perceive, 30

There was a constant effort--not to grieve;

Not to despair, for better days would come,

And the freed debtor smile again at home;

Subdued his habits, he may peace regain,

And bless the woes that were not sent in vain.

Thus might we class the debtors here confined,

The more deceived, the more deceitful kind;

Here are the guilty race, who mean to live

On credit, that credulity will give;

Who purchase, conscious they can never pay; 40

Who know their fate, and traffic to betray;

On whom no pity, fear, remorse, prevail,

Their aim a statute, their resource a jail;--

These as the public spoilers we regard;

No dun so harsh, no creditor so hard.

A second kind are they, who truly strive

To keep their sinking credit long alive;

Success, nay prudence, they may want, but yet

They would be solvent, and deplore a debt;

All means they use, to all expedients run, 50

And are by slow, sad steps, at last undone.

Justly, perhaps, you blame their want of skill,

But mourn their feelings and absolve their will.

There is a debtor, who his trifling _all_

Spreads in a shop; it would not fill a stall:

There at one window his temptation lays,

And in new modes disposes and displays.

Above the door you shall his name behold,

And what he vends in ample letters told,

The words _repository_, _warehouse_, all 60

He uses to enlarge concerns so small.

He to his goods assigns some beauty's name,

Then in her reign, and hopes they'll share her fame;

And talks of credit, commerce, traffic, trade,

As one important by their profit made;

But who can paint the vacancy, the gloom,

And spare dimensions of one backward room?

Wherein he dines, if so 'tis fit to speak,

Of one day's herring and the morrow's steak;

An anchorite in diet, all his care 70

Is to display his stock and vend his ware.

Long waiting hopeless, then he tries to meet

A kinder fortune in a distant street;

There he again displays, increasing yet

Corroding sorrow and consuming debt:

Alas! he wants the requisites to rise--

The true connexions, the availing ties;

They who proceed on certainties advance;

These are not times when men prevail by chance.

But still he tries, till, after years of pain, 80

He finds, with anguish, he has tried in vain.

Debtors are these on whom 'tis hard to press,

'Tis base, impolitic, and merciless.

To these we add a miscellaneous kind,

By pleasure, pride, and indolence confined;

Those whom no calls, no warnings could divert,

The unexperienced and the inexpert;

The builder, idler, schemer, gamester, sot--

The follies different, but the same their lot;

Victims of horses, lasses, drinking, dice, 90

Of every passion, humour, whim, and vice.

See that sad merchant, who but yesterday

Had a vast household in command and pay;

He now entreats permission to employ

A boy he needs, and then entreats the boy.

And there sits one, improvident but kind,

Bound for a friend, whom honour could not bind;

Sighing, he speaks to any who appear,

"A treach'rous friend--'twas that which sent me here:

I was too kind--I thought I could depend 100

On his bare word--he was a treach'rous friend."

A female too!--it is to her a home;

She came before--and she again will come.

Her friends have pity; when their anger drops,

They take her home;--she's tried her schools and shops--

Plan after plan;--but fortune would not mend, }

She to herself was still the treach'rous friend; }

And wheresoe'er began, all here was sure to end. }

And there she sits as thoughtless and as gay, }

As if she'd means, or not a debt to pay-- 110 }

Or knew to-morrow she'd be call'd away-- }

Or felt a shilling and could dine to-day. }

While thus observing, I began to trace

The sober'd features of a well-known face--

Looks once familiar, manners form'd to please,

And all illumined by a heart at ease.

But fraud and flattery ever claim'd a part

(Still unresisted) of that easy heart;

But he at length beholds me--"Ah! my friend!

And have thy pleasures this unlucky end?" 120

"Too sure," he said, and, smiling as he sigh'd:

"I went astray, though prudence seem'd my guide;

All she proposed I in my heart approved,

And she was honour'd, but my pleasure loved--

Pleasure, the mistress to whose arms I fled,

From wife-like lectures angry prudence read.

"Why speak the madness of a life like mine,

The powers of beauty, novelty, and wine?

Why paint the wanton smile, the venal vow,

Or friends whose worth I can appreciate now? 130

"Oft I perceived my fate, and then would say,

'I'll think to-morrow, I must live to-day:'

So am I here--I own the laws are just--

And here, where thought is painful, think I must.

But speech is pleasant; this discourse with thee

Brings to my mind the sweets of liberty;

Breaks on the sameness of the place, and gives

The doubtful heart conviction that it lives,

"Let me describe my anguish in the hour

When law detained me and I felt its power. 140

"When in that shipwreck, this I found my shore,

And join'd the wretched, who were wreck'd before;

When I perceived each feature in the face

Pinch'd through neglect or turbid by disgrace;

When in these wasting forms affliction stood

In my afflicted view, it chill'd my blood;--

And forth I rush'd, a quick retreat to make,

Till a loud laugh proclaim'd the dire mistake.

But when the groan had settled to a sigh;

When gloom became familiar to the eye; 150

When I perceive how others seem to rest,

With every evil rankling in my breast--

Led by example, I put on the man,

Sing off my sighs, and trifle as I can.

"Homer! nay, Pope! (for never will I seek

Applause for learning--nought have I with Greek--)

Gives us the secrets of his pagan hell,

Where ghost with ghost in sad communion dwell;

Where shade meets shade, and round the gloomy meads

They glide and speak of old heroic deeds-- 160

What fields they conquer'd, and what foes they slew

And sent to join the melancholy crew.

"When a new spirit in that world was found,

A thousand shadowy forms came flitting round;

Those who had known him, fond inquiries made:--

'Of all we left, inform us, gentle shade,

Now as we lead thee in our realms to dwell,

Our twilight groves, and meads of asphodel.'

"What paints the poet, is our station here,

Where we like ghosts and flitting shades appear: 170

This is the hell he sings, and here we meet,

And former deeds to new-made friends repeat;

Heroic deeds, which here obtain us fame,

And are in fact the causes why we came.

Yes! this dim region is old Homer's hell,

Abate but groves and meads of asphodel.

"Here, when a stranger from your world we spy,

We gather round him and for news apply;

He hears unheeding, nor can speech endure,

But shivering gazes on the vast obscure. 180

We, smiling, pity, and by kindness show

We felt his feelings and his terrors know;

Then speak of comfort--time will give him sight,

Where now 'tis dark; where now 'tis wo, delight.

"'Have hope,' we say, 'and soon the place to thee

Shall not a prison but a castle be;

When to the wretch whom care and guilt confound,

The world's a prison, with a wider bound;

Go where he may, he feels himself confined,

And wears the fetters of an abject mind.' 190

"But now adieu! those giant keys appear,

Thou art not worthy to be inmate here;

Go to thy world, and to the young declare

What we, our spirits and employments, are;

Tell them how we the ills of life endure,

Our empire stable, and our state secure;

Our dress, our diet, for their use describe,

And bid them haste to join the gen'rous tribe:

Go to thy world, and leave us here to dwell,

Who to its joys and comforts bid farewell." 200

Farewell to these; but other scenes I view,

And other griefs, and guilt of deeper hue;

Where conscience gives to outward ills her pain,

Gloom to the night, and pressure to the chain.

Here separate cells awhile in misery keep

Two doom'd to suffer; there they strive for sleep;

By day indulged, in larger space they range,

Their bondage certain, but their bounds have change.

One was a female, who had grievous ill

Wrought in revenge, and she enjoy'd it still. 210

With death before her, and her fate in view,

Unsated vengeance in her bosom grew;

Sullen she was and threat'ning; in her eye

Glared the stern triumph that she dared to die;

But first a being in the world must leave--

'Twas once reproach; 'twas now a short reprieve.

She was a pauper bound, who early gave

Her mind to vice, and doubly was a slave;

Upbraided, beaten, held by rough control,

Revenge sustain'd, inspired, and fill'd her soul. 220

She fired a full-stored barn, confess'd the fact,

And laugh'd at law and justified the act.

Our gentle vicar tried his powers in vain,

She answer'd not, or answer'd with disdain;

Th' approaching fate she heard without a sigh,

And neither cared to live nor fear'd to die.

Not so he felt, who with her was to pay

The forfeit, life--with dread he view'd the day,

And that short space which yet for him remain'd,

Till with his limbs his faculties were chain'd. 230

He paced his narrow bounds some ease to find,

But found it not,--no comfort reached his mind.

Each sense was palsied; when he tasted food,

He sigh'd and said, "Enough--'tis very good."

Since his dread sentence, nothing seem'd to be

As once it was--he seeing could not see,

Nor hearing, hear aright;--when first, I came

Within his view, I fancied there was shame,

I judged, resentment; I mistook the air--

These fainter passions live not with despair, 240

Or but exist and die;--Hope, fear, and love,

Joy, doubt, and hate, may other spirits move,

But touch not his, who every waking hour

Has one fix'd dread, and always feels its power.

"But will not mercy?"--No! she cannot plead

For such an outrage;--'twas a cruel deed:

He stopp'd a timid traveller;--to his breast,

With oaths and curses, was the danger press'd:--

No! he must suffer; pity we may find

For one man's pangs, but must not wrong mankind. 250

Still I behold him, every thought employ'd

On one dire view!--all others are destroy'd;

This makes his features ghastly, gives the tone

Of his few words resemblance to a groan.

He takes his tasteless food, and, when 'tis done,

Counts up his meals, now lessen'd by that one;

For expectation is on time intent,

Whether he brings us joy or punishment.

Yes! e'en in sleep the impressions all remain;

He hears the sentence and he feels the chain; 260

He sees the judge and jury, when he shakes,

And loudly cries, "Not guilty," and awakes.

Then chilling tremblings o'er his body creep,

Till worn-out nature is compell'd to sleep.

Now comes the dream again; it shows each scene,

With each small circumstance that comes between--

The call to suffering and the very deed--

There crowds go with him, follow, and precede;

Some heartless shout, some pity, all condemn,

While he in fancied envy looks at them. 270

He seems the place for that sad act to see,

And dreams the very thirst which then will be;

A priest attends--it seems, the one he knew

In his best days, beneath whose care he grew.

At this his terrors take a sudden flight,

He sees his native village with delight;

The house, the chamber, where he once array'd

His youthful person; where he knelt and pray'd.

Then too the comforts he enjoy'd at home,

The days of joy; the joys themselves are come-- 280

The hours of innocence--the timid look

Of his loved maid, when first her hand he took

And told his hope; her trembling joy appears,

Her forced reserve and his retreating fears.

All now is present;--'tis a moment's gleam

Of former sunshine--stay, delightful dream!

Let him within his pleasant garden walk,

Give him her arm, of blessings let them talk.

Yes! all are with him now, and all the while

Life's early prospects and his Fanny's smile: 290

Then come his sister and his village-friend,

And he will now the sweetest moments spend

Life has to yield;--no! never will he find

Again on earth such pleasure in his mind:

He goes through shrubby walks these friends among,

Love in their looks and honour on the tongue;

Nay, there's a charm beyond what nature shows,

The bloom is softer and more sweetly grows;--

Pierced by no crime, and urged by no desire

For more than true and honest hearts require, 300

They feel the calm delight, and thus proceed

Through the green lane--then linger in the mead--

Stray o'er the heath in all its purple bloom--

And pluck the blossom where the wild bees hum;

Then through the broomy bound with ease they pass,

And press the sandy sheep-walk's slender grass,

Where dwarfish flowers among the gorse are spread,

And the lamb browses by the linnet's bed;

Then 'cross the bounding brook they make their way

O'er its rough bridge--and there behold the bay!-- 310

The ocean smiling to the fervid sun--

The waves that faintly fall and slowly run--

The ships at distance and the boats at hand;

And now they walk upon the sea-side sand,

Counting the number and what kind they be,

Ships softly sinking in the sleepy sea;

Now arm in arm, now parted, they behold

The glitt'ring waters on the shingles roll'd;

The timid girls, half dreading their design,

Dip the small foot in the retarded brine, 320

And search for crimson weeds, which spreading flow,

Or lie like pictures on the sand below;

With all those bright red pebbles that the sun

Through the small waves so softly shines upon;

And those live lucid jellies which the eye

Delights to trace as they swim glitt'ring by:

Pearl-shells and rubied star-fish they admire,

And will arrange above the parlour-fire,--

Tokens of bliss!--"Oh! horrible! a wave

Roars as it rises--save me, Edward! save!" 330

She cries--Alas! the watchman on his way

Calls and lets in--truth, terror, and the day!

LETTER XXIV.

_SCHOOLS._

Tu quoque ne metuas, quamvis schola verbere multo

Increpet et truculenta senex geret ora magister;

Degeneres animos timor arguit; at tibi consta

Intrepidus, nec te clamor, plagæque sonantes,

Nec matutinis agitet formido sub horis,

Quod sceptrum vibrat ferulæ, quod multa supellex

Virgea, quod molis scuticam prætexit aluta,

Quod fervent trepido subsellia vestra tumultu;

Pompa loci, et vani fugiatur scena timoris.

_Ausonius in Protreptico ad Nepotem_ [vv. 24-33].

Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise,--

We love the play-place of our early days;

The scene is touching, and the heart is stone

That feels not at that sight--and feels at none.

The wall on which we tried our graving skill;

The very name we carved subsisting still;

The bench on which we sat while deep employ'd,

Though mangled, hack'd, and hew'd, yet not destroy'd.

The little ones unbutton'd, glowing hot,

Playing our games, and on the very spot;

As happy as we once to kneel and draw

The chalky ring and knuckle down at taw.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

This fond attachment to the well-known place,

When first we started into life's long race,

Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway,

We feel it e'en in age, and at our latest day.

_Cowper_ [Tirocinium, ll. 296-317].

Schools of every Kind to be found in the Borough--The School for

Infants--The School Preparatory: the Sagacity of the Mistress in

foreseeing Character--Day-Schools of the lower Kind--A Master with

Talents adapted to such Pupils; one of superior

Qualifications--Boarding-Schools: that for young Ladies: one going

first to the Governess, one finally returning Home--School for

Youth; Master and Teacher; various Dispositions and

Capacities--The Miser-Boy--The Boy-Bully--Sons of Farmers: how

amused--What Study will effect, examined--A College Life: one sent

from his College to a Benefice; one retained there in Dignity--The

Advantages in either Case not considerable--Where then the Good of

a literary Life?--Answered--Conclusion.

LETTER XXIV.

_SCHOOLS._

To every class we have a school assign'd,

Rules for all ranks and food for every mind;

Yet one there is, that small regard to rule

Or study pays, and still is deem'd a school:

That, where a deaf, poor, patient widow sits,

And awes some thirty infants as she knits;

Infants of humble, busy wives, who pay

Some trifling price for freedom through the day.

At this good matron's hut the children meet,

Who thus becomes the mother of the street. 10

Her room is small, they cannot widely stray--

Her threshold high, they cannot run away;

Though deaf, she sees the rebel-heroes shout;--

Though lame, her white rod nimbly walks about;

With band of yarn she keeps offenders in,

And to her gown the sturdiest rogue can pin.

Aided by these, and spells, and tell-tale birds,

Her power they dread and reverence her words.

To learning's second seats we now proceed,

Where humming students gilded primers read; 20

Or books with letters large and pictures gay,

To make their reading but a kind of play--

"Reading made Easy," so the titles tell;

But they who read must first begin to spell.

There may be profit in these arts, but still

Learning is labour, call it what you will--

Upon the youthful mind a heavy load;

Nor must we hope to find the royal road.

Some will their easy steps to science show,

And some to heav'n itself their by-way know; 30

Ah! trust them not;--who fame or bliss would share,

Must learn by labour, and must live by care.

Another matron of superior kind

For higher schools prepares the rising mind;

_Preparatory_ she her learning calls,

The step first made to colleges and halls.

She early sees to what the mind will grow,

Nor abler judge of infant-powers I know;

She sees what soon the lively will impede,

And how the steadier will in turn succeed; 40

Observes the dawn of wisdom, fancy, taste,

And knows what parts will wear and what will waste:

She marks the mind too lively, and at once

Sees the gay coxcomb and the rattling dunce.

Long has she lived, and much she loves to trace

Her former pupils, now a lordly race;

Whom when she sees rich robes and furs bedeck,

She marks the pride which once she strove to check.

A burgess comes, and she remembers well

How hard her task to make his worship spell; 50

Cold, selfish, dull, inanimate, unkind,

'Twas but by anger he display'd a mind;

Now civil, smiling, complaisant, and gay,

The world has worn th' unsocial crust away;

That sullen spirit now a softness wears,

And, save by fits, e'en dulness disappears:

But still the matron can the man behold,

Dull, selfish, hard, inanimate, and cold.

A merchant passes;--"probity and truth,

Prudence and patience, mark'd thee from thy youth." 60

Thus she observes, but oft retains her fears

For him, who now with name unstain'd appears;

Nor hope relinquishes for one who yet

Is lost in error and involved in debt;

For latent evil in that heart she found,

More open here, but here the core was sound.

Various our day-schools: here behold we one

Empty and still;--the morning duties done,

Soil'd, tatter'd, worn, and thrown in various heaps,

Appear their books, and there confusion sleeps; 70

The workmen all are from the Babel fled,

And lost their tools, till the return they dread.

Meantime the master, with his wig awry,

Prepares his books for business by-and-by.

Now all th' insignia of the monarch laid

Beside him rest, and none stand by afraid;

He, while his troop light-hearted leap and play,

Is all intent on duties of the day;

No more the tyrant stern or judge severe,

He feels the father's and the husband's fear. 80

Ah! little think the timid trembling crowd,

That one so wise, so powerful, and so proud,

Should feel himself, and dread the humble ills

Of rent-day charges and of coalman's bills;

That, while they mercy from their judge implore,

He fears himself--a knocking at the door;

And feels the burthen as his neighbour states

His humble portion to the parish-rates.

They sit th' allotted hours, then eager run,

Rushing to pleasure when the duty's done; 90

His hour of leisure is of different kind,

Then cares domestic rush upon his mind;

And half the ease and comfort he enjoys,

Is when surrounded by slates, books, and boys.

Poor Reuben Dixon has the noisiest school

Of ragged lads, who ever bow'd to rule;

Low in his price--the men who heave our coals,

And clean our causeways, send him boys in shoals.

To see poor Reuben, with his fry beside--

Their half-check'd rudeness and his half-scorn'd pride-- 100

Their room, the sty in which th' assembly meet,

In the close lane behind the Northgate-street;

T' observe his vain attempts to keep the peace,

Till tolls the bell, and strife and troubles cease,

Calls for our praise; his labour praise deserves,

But not our pity; Reuben has no nerves.

'Mid noise and dirt, and stench, and play, and prate,

He calmly cuts the pen or views the slate.

But Leonard!--yes, for Leonard's fate I grieve,

Who loathes the station which he dares not leave; 110

He cannot dig, he will not beg his bread;

All his dependence rests upon his head;

And, deeply skill'd in sciences and arts,

On vulgar lads he wastes superior parts.

Alas! what grief that feeling mind sustains,

In guiding hands and stirring torpid brains;

He whose proud mind from pole to pole will move,

And view the wonders of the worlds above;

Who thinks and reasons strongly--hard his fate,

Confined for ever to the pen and slate. 120

True, he submits, and when the long dull day

Has slowly pass'd, in weary tasks, away,

To other worlds with cheerful view he looks,

And parts the night between repose and books.

Amid his labours, he has sometimes tried

To turn a little from his cares aside;

Pope, Milton, Dryden, with delight has seized,

His soul engaged and of his trouble eased.

When, with a heavy eye and ill-done sum,

No part conceived, a stupid boy will come; 130

Then Leonard first subdues the rising frown,

And bids the blockhead lay his blunders down;

O'er which disgusted he will turn his eye, }

To his sad duty his sound mind apply, }

And, vex'd in spirit, throw his pleasures by. }

Turn we to schools which more than these afford--

The sound instruction and the wholesome board;

And first our school for ladies:--pity calls

For one soft sigh, when we behold these walls,

Placed near the town, and where, from window high, 140

The fair, confined, may our free crowds espy,

With many a stranger gazing up and down,

And all the envied tumult of the town;

May, in the smiling summer-eve, when they

Are sent to sleep the pleasant hours away,

Behold the poor (whom they conceive the bless'd)

Employ'd for hours, and grieved they cannot rest.

Here the fond girl, whose days are sad and few

Since dear mamma pronounced the last adieu,

Looks to the road, and fondly thinks she hears 150

The carriage-wheels, and struggles with her tears.

All yet is new, the misses great and small,

Madam herself, and teachers, odious all;

From laughter, pity, nay command, she turns,

But melts in softness, or with anger burns;

Nauseates her food, and wonders who can sleep

On such mean beds, where she can only weep.

She scorns condolence--but to all she hates

Slowly at length her mind accommodates;

Then looks on bondage with the same concern 160

As others felt, and finds that she must learn

As others learn'd--the common lot to share,

To search for comfort and submit to care.

There are, 'tis said, who on these seats attend,

And to these ductile minds destruction vend;

Wretches (to virtue, peace, and nature, foes)

To these soft minds, their wicked trash expose;

Seize on the soul, ere passions take the sway,

And lead the heart, ere yet it feels, astray:

Smugglers obscene!--and can there be who take 170

Infernal pains, the sleeping vice to wake?

Can there be those, by whom the thought defiled

Enters the spotless bosom of a child?

By whom the ill is to the heart convey'd, }

Who lend the foe, not yet in arms, their aid, }

And sap the city-walls before the siege be laid? }

Oh! rather skulking in the by-ways steal,

And rob the poorest traveller of his meal;

Burst through the humblest trader's bolted door;

Bear from the widow's hut her winter-store; 180

With stolen steed on highways take your stand,

Your lips with curses arm'd, with death your hand;--

Take all but life--the virtuous more would say, }

Take life itself, dear as it is, away, }

Rather than guilty thus the guileless soul betray. }

Years, pass away--let us suppose them past,

Th' accomplish'd nymph for freedom looks at last;

All hardships over, which a school contains,

The spirit's bondage and the body's pains;

Where teachers make the heartless, trembling set 190

Of pupils suffer for their own regret;

Where winter's cold, attack'd by one poor fire,

Chills the fair child, commanded to retire;

She felt it keenly in the morning air,

Keenly she felt it at the evening prayer.

More pleasant summer; but then walks were made

Not a sweet ramble, but a slow parade;

They moved by pairs beside the hawthorn-hedge,

Only to set their feelings on an edge;

And now at eve, when all their spirits rise, 200

Are sent to rest, and all their pleasure dies;

Where yet they all the town alert can see,

And distant plough-boys pacing o'er the lea.

These and the tasks successive masters brought--

The French they conn'd, the curious works they wrought,

The hours they made their taper fingers strike,

Note after note, all dull to them alike;

Their drawings, dancings on appointed days,

Playing with globes, and getting parts of plays;

The tender friendships made 'twixt heart and heart, 210

When the dear friends had nothing to impart:--

All! all! are over;--now th' accomplished maid

Longs for the world, of nothing there afraid.

Dreams of delight invade her gentle breast,

And fancied lovers rob the heart of rest;

At the paternal door a carriage stands,

Love knits their hearts, and Hymen joins their hands.

Ah!--world unknown! how charming is thy view,

Thy pleasures many, and each pleasure new!

Ah!--world experienced! what of thee is told? 220

How few thy pleasures, and those few how old!

Within a silent street, and far apart

From noise of business, from a quay or mart,

Stands an old spacious building, and the din

You hear without, explains the work within;

Unlike the whispering of the nymphs, this noise

Loudly proclaims a "boarding-school for boys."

The master heeds it not, for thirty years

Have render'd all familiar to his ears;

He sits in comfort, 'mid the various sound 230

Of mingled tones for ever flowing round;

Day after day he to his task attends--

Unvaried toil, and care that never ends.

Boys in their works proceed; while his employ

Admits no change, or changes but the boy;

Yet time has made it easy;--he beside

Has power supreme, and power is sweet to pride.

But grant him pleasure;--what can teachers feel,

Dependent helpers always at the wheel?

Their power despised, their compensation small, 240

Their labour dull, their life laborious all;

Set after set, the lower lads to make

Fit for the class which their superiors take;

The road of learning for a time to track

In roughest state, and then again go back;

Just the same way on other troops to wait--

Attendants fix'd at learning's lower gate.

The day-tasks now are over;--to their ground

Rush the gay crowd with joy-compelling sound;

Glad to [elude] the burthens of the day, 250

The eager parties hurry to their play.

Then in these hours of liberty we find

The native bias of the opening mind;

They yet possess not skill the mask to place,

And hide the passions glowing in the face;

Yet some are found--the close, the sly, the mean,

Who know already all must not be seen.

Lo! one who walks apart, although so young,

He lays restraint upon his eye and tongue;

Nor will he into scrapes or dangers get, 260

And half the school are in the stripling's debt.

Suspicious, timid, he is much afraid

Of trick and plot--he dreads to be betray'd;

He shuns all friendship, for he finds they lend,

When lads begin to call each other friend.

Yet self with self has war; the tempting sight

Of fruit on sale provokes his appetite;--

See! how, he walks the sweet seduction by; }

That he is tempted, costs him first a sigh-- }

'Tis dangerous to indulge, 'tis grievous to deny! 270 }

This he will choose, and whispering asks the price.

The purchase dreadful, but the portion nice;

Within the pocket he explores the pence;

Without, temptation strikes on either sense,

The sight, the smell;--but then he thinks again

Of money gone! while fruit nor taste remain.

Meantime there comes an eager thoughtless boy,

Who gives the price and only feels the joy:

Example dire! the youthful miser stops,

And slowly back the treasured coinage drops. 280

Heroic deed! for should he now comply,

Can he to-morrow's appetite deny?

Beside, these spendthrifts who so friendly live,

Cloy'd with their purchase, will a portion give.--

Here ends debate, he buttons up his store,

And feels the comfort that it burns no more,

Unlike to him the tyrant-boy, whose sway

All hearts acknowledge; him the crowds obey:

At his command they break through every rule;

Whoever governs, he controls the school; 290

'Tis not the distant emperor moves their fear,

But the proud viceroy who is ever near.

Verres could do that mischief in a day,

For which not Rome, in all its power, could pay;

And these boy-tyrants will their slaves distress,

And do the wrongs no master can redress.

The mind they load with fear; it feels disdain }

For its own baseness; yet it tries in vain }

To shake th' admitted power;--the coward comes again. }

'Tis more than present pain these tyrants give, 300

Long as we've life some strong impressions live;

And these young ruffians in the soul will sow

Seeds of all vices that on weakness grow.

Hark! at his word the trembling younglings flee;

Where he is walking none must walk but he;

See! from the winter-fire the weak retreat;

His the warm corner, his the favourite seat,

Save when he yields it to some slave to keep

Awhile, then back, at his return, to creep.

At his command his poor dependents fly, 310

And humbly bribe him as a proud ally;

Flatter'd by all, the notice he bestows

Is gross abuse, and bantering and blows;

Yet he's a dunce, and, spite of all his fame

Without the desk, within he feels his shame:

For there the weaker boy, who felt his scorn,

For him corrects the blunders of the morn;

And he is taught, unpleasant truth! to find

The trembling body has the prouder mind.

Hark to that shout, that burst of empty noise, 320

From a rude set of bluff, obstreperous boys;

They who, like colts let loose, with vigour bound,

And thoughtless spirit, o'er the beaten ground;

Fearless they leap, and every youngster feels

His Alma active in his hands and heels.

These are the sons of farmers, and they come

With partial fondness for the joys of home;

Their minds are coursing in their fathers' fields,

And e'en the dream a lively pleasure yields;

They, much enduring, sit th' allotted hours, 330

And o'er a grammar waste their sprightly powers;

They dance; but them can measured steps delight,

Whom horse and hounds to daring deeds excite?

Nor could they bare to wait from meal to meal,

Did they not slyly to the chamber steal,

And there the produce of the basket seize,

The mother's gift! still studious of their ease.

Poor Alma, thus oppress'd, forbears to rise,

But rests or revels in the arms and thighs[72].

"But is it sure that study will repay 340

The more attentive and forbearing?"--Nay!

The farm, the ship, the humble shop have each

Gains which severest studies seldom reach.

At college place a youth, who means to raise

His state by merit and his name by praise;

Still much he hazards; there is serious strife

In the contentions of a scholar's life.

Not all the mind's attention, care, distress,

Nor diligence itself, ensure success;

His jealous heart a rival's power may dread, 350

Till its strong feelings have confused his head,

And, after days and months, nay, years of pain,

He finds just lost the object he would gain.

But, grant him this and all such life can give,

For other prospects he begins to live;

Begins to feel that man was form'd to look

And long for other objects than a book.

In his mind's eye his house and glebe he sees,

And farms and talks with farmers at his ease;

And time is lost, till fortune sends him forth 360

To a rude world unconscious of his worth;

There in some petty parish to reside,

The college-boast, then turn'd the village-guide;

And, though awhile his flock and dairy please,

He soon reverts to former joys and ease:

Glad when a friend shall come to break his rest,

And speak of all the pleasures they possess'd--

Of masters, fellows, tutors, all with whom

They shared those pleasures, never more to come;

Till both conceive the times by bliss endear'd, 370

Which once so dismal and so dull appear'd.

But fix our scholar, and suppose him crown'd

With all the glory gain'd on classic ground;

Suppose the world without a sigh resign'd,

And to his college all his care confined;

Give him all honours that such states allow,

The freshman's terror and the tradesman's bow;

Let his apartments with his taste agree,

And all his views be those he loves to see;

Let him each day behold the savoury treat, 380

For which he pays not, but is paid to eat;

These joys and glories soon delight no more,

Although, withheld, the mind is vex'd and sore;

The honour too is to the place confined;

Abroad they know not each superior mind:

Strangers no _wranglers_ in these figures see,

Nor give they worship to a high degree.

Unlike the prophet's is the scholar's case,

His honour all is in his dwelling-place;

And there such honours are familiar things; 390

What is a monarch in a crowd of kings?

Like other sovereigns he's by forms address'd,

By statutes govern'd and with rules oppress'd.

When all these forms and duties die away,

And the day passes like the former day,

Then, of exterior things at once bereft,

He's to himself and one attendant left;

Nay, John too goes; nor aught of service more

Remains for him; he gladly quits the door,

And, as he whistles to the college-gate, 400

He kindly pities his poor master's fate.

Books cannot always please, however good;

Minds are not ever craving for their food;

But sleep will soon the weary soul prepare

For cares to-morrow that were this day's care;

For forms, for feasts, that sundry times have past,

And formal feasts that will for ever last.

"But then from study will no comforts rise?"

Yes! such as studious minds alone can prize;

Comforts, yea! joys ineffable they find, 410

Who seek the prouder pleasures of the mind:

The soul, collected in those happy hours,

Then makes her efforts, then enjoys her powers;

And in those seasons feels herself repaid,

For labours past and honours long delay'd.

No! 'tis not worldly gain, although by chance

The sons of learning may to wealth advance;

Nor station high, though in some favouring hour

The sons of learning may arrive at power;

Nor is it glory, though the public voice 420

Of honest praise will make the heart rejoice;

But 'tis the mind's own feelings give the joy,

Pleasures she gathers in her own employ--

Pleasures that gain or praise cannot bestow,

Yet can dilate and raise them when they flow.

For this the poet looks the world around,

Where form and life and reasoning man are found.

He loves the mind in all its modes to trace,

And all the manners of the changing race;

Silent he walks the road of life along, 430

And views the aims of its tumultuous throng;

He finds what shapes the Proteus-passions take,

And what strange waste of life and joy they make,

And loves to show them in their varied ways,

With honest blame or with unflattering praise.

'Tis good to know, 'tis pleasant to impart,

These turns and movements of the human heart;

The stronger features of the soul to paint,

And make distinct the latent and the faint;

Man as he is, to place in all men's view, 440

Yet none with rancour, none with scorn pursue;

Nor be it ever of my portraits told,--

"Here the strong lines of malice we behold."--

* * * * *

This let me hope, that when in public view

I bring my pictures, men may feel them true;

"This is a likeness," may they all declare,

"And I have seen him, but I know not where;"

For I should mourn the mischief I had done,

If as the likeness all would fix on one.

Man's vice and crime I combat as I can, 450

But to his GOD and conscience leave the man;

I search (a [Quixote!]) all the land about,

To find its giants and enchanters out,

(The giant-folly, the enchanter-vice,

Whom doubtless I shall vanquish in a trice;)

But is there man whom I would injure?--no!

I am to him a fellow, not a foe--

A fellow-sinner, who must rather dread

The bolt, than hurl it at another's head.

No! let the guiltless, if there such be found, 460

Launch forth the spear, and deal the deadly wound;

How can I so the cause of virtue aid,

Who am myself attainted and afraid?

Yet, as I can, I point the powers of rhyme,

And, sparing criminals, attack the crime.

FOOTNOTES:

[72] Should any of my readers find themselves at a loss in this

place, I beg leave to refer them to a poem of Prior, called Alma, or

the Progress of the Mind.

ERRATA

[_Except in the case of short poems with unnumbered lines, or in that

of prefaces, mottos, notes &c. the line of the poem, not the line

of the page, is cited._]

PAGE 1 l. 11 for _chests_ read _chiefs_.

p. 3 l. 5 for _she's a_ read _she, "'s a_.

p. 4 l. 2 for _beaut'y_ read _beauty's_.

p. 5 l. 18 for _moans_ read _mourn_.

p. 7 l. 9 for _stand_ read _stands_.

p. 9 l. 1 for _Shenstone's_ read _Byrom's_.

p. 14 l. 31 for _nature_ read _Nature's_.

p. 20 l. 75 for _devine_ read _divine_.

_ib._ l. 90 for _unwraught_ read _unwrought_.

_ib._ l. 102 for _pleasures_ read _pleasure's_.

p. 21 l. 116 for _distant_ read _distance_.

p. 23 l. 186 for _desturb_ read _disturb_.

_ib._ l. 196 for _titt'ring_ read _titt'rings_.

_ib._ note for _puris_ read _purus_.

p. 24 l. 214 for _sits_ read _sets_.

_ib._ l. 226 for _fall_ read _pall_.

_ib._ for _refind_ read _refin'd_.

p. 27 l. 82 for _to humble or to brave_ read _too humble or too brave_.

p. 28 l. 101 for _Errors_ read _Error's_.

p. 30 l. 153 for _be_ read _by_.

p. 48 l. 41 for _Meonides_ read _Mæonides_.

_ib._ l. 54 for _triump'd_ read _triumph'd_.

_ib._ l. 61 for _Wonders_ read _wanders_.

p. 49 l. 67 for _Titerus_ read _Tityrus_.

_ib._ l. 69 for _Neareds_ read _Nereids_.

_ib._ l. 83 for _glomiest_ read _gloomiest_.

_ib._ l. 87 for _Thompson_ read _Thomson_.

_ib._ l. 89 for _years Verdent_ read _year's Verdant_.

_ib._ l. 91 for _Aspin_ read _Aspen_.

p. 50 l. 104 for _Vally_ read _Valley_.

_ib._ l. 111 for _glomier_ read _gloomier_.

_ib._ l. 118 for _Challange_ read _Challenge_.

p. 51 l. 142 for _Disapointment_ read _Disappointment_.

_ib._ l. 149 for _Currant_ read _Current_.

_ib._ l. 160 for _Eccho's_ read _Echo's_.

p. 52 l. 185 for _ignious_ read _igneous_.

_ib._ l. 201 for _not_ read _out_.

_ib._ l. 212 for _ages_ read _age's_.

_ib._ l. 215 for _ratling_ read _rattling_.

p. 53 l. 235 for _Simphony_ read _Symphony_.

_ib._ l. 237 for _Scence_ read _Scene_.

p. 55 l. 295 for _Fiend, fang'd_ read _Fiend and fang'd_.

_ib._ l. 297 for _thretned_ read _threaten'd_.

_ib._ l. 313 for _Rotteness_ read _Rottenness_.

p. 56 l. 343 for _distinguis'd_ read _distinguish'd_.

_ib._ l. 351 for _Worldwind's_ read _Whirlwind's_.

p. 57 l. 379 for _dispis'd_ read _despis'd_.

p. 59 l. 439 for _beseige_ read _besiege_.

_ib._ l. 441 for _tenaceous_ read _tenacious_.

_ib._ l. 446 for _Death Thoughts_ read _Death, Thought's_.

_ib._ l. 466 for _Emminence_ read _Eminence_.

p. 82 note for _Od. 8_ read _Od. 6_.

p. 87 l. 8 for _Paneg. ad Pisones, Lucan_ read _Paneg. ad Pisones_.

p. 115 l. 543 for _reverend_ read _reverent_.

p. 123 l. 118 for _Theirs_ read _Their_.

p. 146 l. 157 for _Indited_ read _Indicted_.

p. 152 l. 393 for _silly_ read _slily_.

p. 155 l. 8 for _teneres_ read _teneras_.

_ib._ l. 15. The reading in Shakspere is not _furnish up_, but

_finish up_.

p. 158 l. 8 for _restat_ read _restet_.

p. 161 l. 139 for _cives_ read _chives_.

p. 182 l. 63 not in inverted commas.

p. 187 ll. 235-6 not in inverted commas.

p. 205 l. 270 for _passion_ read _passions_.

p. 211 l. 507 for _Snowden's_ read _Snowdon's_.

p. 212 ll. 551-2 not in inverted commas.

p. 230 l. 214 for _One_ read _one_.

p. 232 l. 319 for _Reubens_ read _Rubens_.

_ib._ l. 320 for _shall_ read _shalt_.

p. 237 l. 96 for _If_ read _In_.

p. 238 l. 11. _I'll know no more_, not printed as beginning of new

stanza.

p. 239 l. 36 not printed as beginning of new stanza.

_ib._ not in inverted commas.

p. 251 l. 4 for 22 read 22 _and_ 23.

p. 252 l. 5 for _dolor_ read _labor_.

p. 256 l. 4 for _deplorant_ read _deplangunt_.

p. 257 l. 22 for _elmin_ read _elmen_.

p. 284 l. 7 for _scenes_ read _place hath_.

_ib._ l. 15 for _discutient_ read _discutiunt_.

_ib._ l. 17 for _ver._ 520 read vv. 519-523.

p. 289 l. 154 (Lonely yet public stands) not enclosed _sic_ in brackets.

p. 292 l. 299 for _suceeds_ read _succeeds_.

p. 301 l. 266 for _thoughts_ and _spirits_ read _thoughts'_ and

_spirit's_.

p. 303 l. 13 for _of_ read _o'er_.

_ib._ l. 14 for _while_ read _whilst_.

p. 307 l. 132 for _Comes_ read _Come_.

p. 313 l. 6 for _Churches_ read _Church's_.

_ib._ l. 12 for _knew_ read _know_.

_ib._ l. 14 for _Oh!_ read _Ah!_

p. 327 l. 528 for _staid_ read _stay'd_.

p. 328 l. 12 for xxvii. read xxviii.

p. 329 l. 6 for _leader_ read _captain_.

_ib._ l. 8 for _beer: all_ read _beer ... all_.

_ib._ _ib._ for _I_ read _and I_.

_ib._ ll. 10, 11 for _and they shall all worship me as_ read _and

worship me_.

p. 336 l. 7 for _Manilius_ read _Plaut. Trucul._

p. 340 l. 114 for _professions_ read _professions'_.

p. 347 instead of ll. 4, 5 read as in text:

_Finirent multi letho mala; credula vitam

Spes alit, et melius cras fore semper ait_.

p. 364 l. 6 for _Catull_, lib. 3 read _(Dionys.) Cato De Moribus_ III. 7.

_ib._ l. 7 for _fatiscat_ read _fatiscit_.

p. 374 l. 14 for _Et_ read _Sed_.

_ib._ for _juncta_ read _multa_.

p. 407 l. 7 for _pool_ read _pond_.

_ib._ l. 9 is followed in Shakspere by the line:

'_Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit._'

p. 417 l. 5 for _quia_ read _quam_.

_ib._ l. 12 for _tibi_ read _cui_.

_ib._ l. 15 for _blessing_ read _blessings_.

p. 422 l. 147 for _reverend_ read _reverent_.

p. 428 l. 114 for _blissing_ read _blessing_.

p. 431 l. 5 six lines follow after 'Burning Lamp.'

_ib._ for _wast_ read _wert_.

_ib._ l. 7 five lines follow after _this fire_.

_ib._ 'An everlasting bonfire light!' follows after 'perpetual

triumph.'

_ib._ l. 8 for _in a_ read _with thee in the_.

p. 439 l. 4 for _who_ read _that_.

_ib._ l. 5 for _in time_ read _in the time_.

p. 451 l. 71 for _birth_ read _berth_.

p. 480 l. 4 for _Coepis_ read _Coepisti_.

_ib._ for _desines_ read _desinis_.

p. 485 l. 166 for _then_ read _than_.

p. 502 l. 7 for _my_ read _our_.

p. 512 l. 24 six lines follow after _at taw_.

p. 519 l. 250 for _illude_ read _elude_.

p. 524 l. 452 for _Quixotte!_ read _Quixote!_

The (mis)quotation from Ovid in p. 5 cannot be identified; the lines

quoted on p. 284 as 'Pope's Homer's Iliad, bk. vi. line 45' are not to

be found in that work; and the stanza attributed on p. 294 to Percy is

not traceable to the _Reliques_.

VARIANTS.

=POEMS.= Dedication and Preface. Variants in edition of 1807 (first

edition).

Dedication:

p. =88=, l. 2. Henry-Richard.

p. =89=, l. 5. judgement.

l. 10. have taught.

Preface:

p. =90=, l. 11. enquiry.

l. 27. judgement.

p. =91=, l. 23. among.

l. 32. as Mr Boswell (since Lord Auchinleck) has told.

p. =92=, l. 7. suspence.

p. =93=, l. 2, my friends.

l. 5. judgement.

l. 9. blameable.

p. =94=, l. 13. such opinion.

l. 18. Charles-James.

l. 28. criticizing.

l. 36. judgement.

p. =95=, l. 12. judgement.

l. 15. Lope de Vega.

l. 22. an high degree.

l. 26. Lope de Vega.

p. =96=, l. 20. judgement.

l. 26. in a beneficed clergyman.

p. =97=, l. 23. Baptisms.

l. 31. enquiry.

p. =98=, l. 25. judgement.

l. 26. intitled.

p. =99=, l. 8. judgement.

l. 14. or the exultation.

=THE LIBRARY.= Variants in edition of 1781 (first edition).

l. 16. _for_ wo: woe.

l. 22. prevail.

l. 28. her old.

_instead of_ ll. 51-54:

Come then, and entering view this spacious scene,

This sacred dome, this noble magazine;

l. 57. asswage.

_instead of_ ll. 63-178:

In this selection, which the human mind

With care has made; for Glory has design'd,

All should be perfect; or at least appear

From falshood, vanity, and passion clear:

But man's best efforts taste of man, and show

The poor and troubled source from whence they flow;

His very triumphs his defeats must speak,

And ev'n his wisdom serves to prove him weak.

Fashion, though Folly's child, and guide of fools,

Rules e'en the wisest, and in Learning rules;

From courts and crowds to Wisdom's seat she goes,

And reigns triumphant o'er her mother's foes:

Yon Folios, once the darlings of the mode,

Now lie neglected like the birth-day ode;

There Learning, stuff'd with maxims trite though sage,

Makes Indigestion yawn at every page;

Chain'd like Prometheus, lo! the mighty train

Brave Time's fell tooth, and live and die again;

And now the scorn of men and now the pride,

The sires respect them, and the sons deride.

l. 183. every note and every comment.

l. 197. is.

l. 200. your judges are your rivals.

_instead of_ ll. 201-322:

But ne'er, discourag'd, fair attempts lay by, }

For Reason views them with approving eye, }

And Candour yields what cavillers deny. }

She sees the struggles of the soul to steer

Through clouds and darkness, which surround us here,

And, though the long research has ne'er prevail'd,

Applauds the trial and forgets it fail'd.

_followed by_ ll. 105--140 _of the text; then continuing:_

Wits, Bards and Idlers fill a tatter'd row;

And the vile Vulgar lie disdain'd below.

Amid these works, on which the eager eye

Delights to fix, or glides reluctant by

Where all combin'd their decent pomp display,

Where shall we first our early offering pay?

To thee PHILOSOPHY! to thee, the light,

The guide of mortals through their mental night,

By whom the world in all its views is shown,

Our guide through Nature's works, and in our own;

Who place in order Being's wondrous chain, }

Save where those puzzling, stubborn links remain, }

By art divine involv'd, which man can ne'er explain. }

These are thy volumes; and in these we look,

As abstracts drawn from Nature's larger book;

Here first describ'd the humble glebe appears,

Unconscious of the gaudy robe it wears;

All that the earth's profound recesses hide,

And all that roll beneath the raging tide;

The sullen gem that yet disdains to shine,

And all the ductile matter of the mine.

Next to the vegetable tribes they lead,

Whose fruitful beds o'er every balmy meed

Teem with new life, and hills, and vales, and groves,

Feed the still flame, and nurse the silent loves;

Which, when the Spring calls forth their genial power

Swell with the seed, and flourish in the flower:

There, with the husband-slaves, in royal pride,

Queens, like the Amazons of old, reside;

There, like the Turk, the lordly husband lives,

And joy to all the gay seraglio gives;

There, in the secret chambers, veil'd from sight,

A bashful tribe in hidden flames delight;

There, in the open day, and gaily deck'd,

The bolder brides their distant lords expect;

Who with the wings of love instinctive rise,

And on prolific winds each ardent bridegroom flies.

Next are that tribe whom life and sense inform,

The torpid beetle, and the shrinking worm;

And insects, proud to spread their brilliant wing,

To catch the fostering sunbeams of the spring;

That feather'd race, which late from winter fled,

To dream an half-existence with the dead;

Who now, returning from their six months' sleep,

Dip their black pinions in the slumbering deep;

Where, feeling life from stronger beams of day,

The scaly myriads of the ocean play.

Then led by Art through Nature's maze, we trace

The sullen people of the savage race;

And see a favourite tribe mankind attend,

And in the fawning follower find the friend.

l. 346. virtues seek.

l. 390. subtle.

l. 408. a song.

l. 410. did ne'er

l. 422. Abridgements.

l. 431. cries.

_instead of_ l. 432: Ere laws arose, ere tyrants bade them rise;

l. 435. no tumults.

_instead of_ ll. 441-2:

Bound by no tyes but those by nature made,

Virtue was law, and gifts prevented trade.

l. 444. chearless.

_instead of_ l. 454: Taught by some conquering friends who came as foes.

l. 477. Primæval.

_After_ l. 478:

Now turn from these, to view yon ampler space,

There rests a sacred, grave and solemn race;

There the devout an awful station keep,

Vigils advise and yet dispose to sleep;

There might they long in lasting peace abide }

But controversial authors lie beside, }

Who friend from friend and sire from son divide: }

Endless disputes around the world they cause

Creating now, and now controuling laws.

_followed by_ ll. 223-266 _of the text, with the ensuing variations:_

ll. 237-244:

Calvin grows gentle in this silent coast,

Nor finds a single heretic to roast:

Here, their fierce rage subdu'd, and lost their pride

The Pope and Luther slumber side by side:

l. 245. whom the Church's.

l. 248. Crumbs.

ll. 249-256 _omitted_.

_instead of_ l. 257: And let them lie--for lo! yon gaudy frames.

l. 259. dread.

l. 260. sparks of Grace.

l. 265. prophane, or impiously.

l. 537. What tho' neglect has shed.

l. 550. dæmons.

l. 555. strait.

l. 578. tipling.

l. 595. fancy'd.

=THE VILLAGE.= Variants in edition of 1783 (first edition).

=Book I.=

_Synopsis of contents omitted._

l. 5. forms.

_instead of_ ll. 7-8:

Fled are those times, if e'er such times were seen,

When rustic poets prais'd their native green;

l. 18. echo's.

l. 31. one chief cause.

_instead of_ ll. 33-35:

They ask no thought, require no deep design,

But swell the song and liquefy the line;

The gentle lover takes the rural strain.

l. 40. gazes.

l. 59. sooth.

l. 76. And the wild tare clings round.

_instead of_ ll. 99-100:

And foil'd beneath the young Ulysses fell;

When peals of praise the merry mischief tell?

l. 107. Or, yielding part (when equal knaves contest).

l. 108. for the rest.

l. 118. their's.

_after_ l. 143:

Like him to make the plenteous harvest grow,

And yet not share the plenty they bestow;

l. 153. as luxury.

_instead of_ ll. 166-7:

Or will you urge their homely, plenteous fare,

Healthy and plain and still the poor man's share?

_instead of_ l. 171:

As you who envy would disdain to touch.

l. 183. its own.

l. 189. straitest.

l. 197. And urge the efforts.

l. 204. rouz'd.

l. 219. Slow in their gifts, but.

l. 223. woe.

l. 265. is all.

l. 271. Nor wipes.

l. 273. Nor promise.

l. 295. mutely hastens to the grave.

_instead of_ ll. 312-13:

Sure in his shot his game he seldom mist,

And seldom fail'd to win his game at whist;

l. 325. oh! Death.

l. 327. farmer gets.

=THE VILLAGE.=

=Book II.=

_Synopsis of contents omitted._

l. 30. began.

l. 52. the Lord's.

l. 55. Hear too.

_instead of_ ll. 59-62:

How their maids languish, while their men run loose,

And leave them scarce a damsel to seduce.

_instead of_ l. 68:

One cup, and that just serves to make them foes;

l. 70. And batter'd faces end.

l. 85. faultering.

l. 102. you reckon great.

_instead of_ ll. 111-112:

Who gave up pleasures you could never share,

For pain which you are seldom doom'd to bear,

_instead of_ ll. 161-2:

But Rutland's virtues shall his griefs restrain,

And join to heal the bosom where they reign.

l. 165. Hush the loud grief.

l. 168. can please.

l. 172. not valu'd.

l. 176. terror.

_instead of_ l. 177:

But 'tis the spirit that is mounting high.

l. 178. a native.

l. 193. nearer woes.

_after_ l. 197:

Victims victorious, who with him shall stand

In Fame's fair book the guardians of the land;

l. 201. streams go murmuring by.

l. 204. strong stream.

=THE NEWSPAPER.= Variants in edition of 1785 (first edition).

l. 37. Yet you in pity check.

l. 38. and still vouchsafe to write.

_instead of_ ll. 39-40:

(While your choice works on quiet shelves remain,

Or grace the windows of the trade in vain;

Where ev'n their fair and comely sculptures fail,

Engrav'd by Grignion, and design'd by Wale)--

_instead of_ ll. 47-48:

But lend your aid to make my prowess known,

And puff my labours as ye puff your own.

l. 51. or what the time they fly.

_instead of_ ll. 57-60:

Gray evening comes, and comes not evening gray

With all the trifling tidings of the day?

_instead of_ ll. 71-72:

Yet soon each reptile tribe is lost but these,

In the first brushing of the wintry breeze;

l. 73. These still remain.

_after_ l. 78:

(The Oglio now appears, a rival name,

Of bolder manners, tho' of younger fame);

l. 83. lye.

l. 85. holy day.

_instead of_ l. 92: Tomorrow Woodfall, and the world below.

l. 104. the weak man's brain.

_after_ l. 126:

Soon as the chiefs, whom once they choose, lie low,

Their praise too slackens, and their aid moves slow;

Not so, when leagu'd with rising powers, their rage

Then wounds th' unwary foe, and burns along the page.

l. 132. nor leaves the winter one.

l. 134. Fly in successive troops this fluttering race.

_after_ l. 136:

Or are there those, who ne'er their friends forsook,

Lur'd by no promise, by no danger shook?

Then bolder bribes the venal aid procure,

And golden letters make the faithless sure:

For those who deal in flattery or abuse,

Will sell them when they can the most produce.

l. 155. Justice, Rector and Attorney.

l. 160. tythe.

_instead of_ ll. 163-4:

Here comes the neighbouring Squire, with gracious air,

To stamp opinions, and to take the chair;

l. 172. plagues.

l. 175. Brook's and St Albin's.

l. 178. owes.

_instead of_ ll. 190-192:

"Strive but for power, and parley but for place;"

Yet hopes, good man! "that all may still be well,"

And thanks the stars that he's a vote to sell.

_after_ l. 192:

While thus he reads or raves, around him wait

A rustic band and join in each debate;

Partake his manly spirit, and delight

To praise or blame, to judge of wrong or right;

Measures to mend, and ministers to make,

Till all go madding for their country's sake.

l. 193. th' all-teeming Press.

l. 194. These pois'nous.

_instead of_ ll. 211-12:

Studious we toil, correct, amend, retouch,

Take much away, yet mostly leave too much;

l. 230. deny'd.

l. 253. chearful.

l. 260. And slighting theirs, make comments of their own.

l. 266. monies.

_instead of_ ll. 267-8:

While the sly widow, and the coxcomb sleek,

Dive deep for scandal through a hint oblique.

_instead of_ ll. 273-4:

Hence on that morn no welcome post appears,

That luckless mind a sullen aspect wears;

l. 279. Such restless passion.

l. 280. Worse than an itch for Music or the Muse.

l. 284. Has neither chance for cure, nor intervals of rest.

_after_ l. 284:

Such powers have things so vile, and they can boast

That those peruse them who despise them most.

l. 285. Thus sung--say Muse.

l. 294. Or coin fresh tales.

l. 300. No British widow turns Italian bride.

l. 304. peers give place, and own her fair.

_instead of_ ll. 309-312:

Such tales as these with joy the many read,

And paragraphs on paragraphs succeed;

Then add the common themes that never cease

The tide-like Stocks, their ebb and their increase;

_instead of_ l. 336: And nameless murder'd in the face of day.

l. 337. Here, first in rank, the Stage.

l. 344. From self, and.

l. 346. try'd.

l. 373. gray.

_instead of_ ll. 379-80:

Such are their puffs, and would they all were such,

Then should the verse no poet's laurel touch;

l. 386. frizeurs.

l. 416. sacred labours.

l. 428. On the scroll'd bar-board, view'd too long before.

l. 429. tipling.

l. 438. For these no more shall live, than they shall die.

_instead of_ ll. 449-50:

Nameless you this way print your idle rhymes,

A thousand view them, you a thousand times:

l. 462. Leave wealth, indulge not these but nobler fires.

Note 1. SPLEEN, a poem.

_The following footnotes appear in the first edition of_ The

Newspaper, _but were not reprinted_:

l. 1. The greatest part of this Poem was written immediately after the

dissolution of the late parliament.

l. 68. The Ephemera, or May-fly, is an insect remarked by naturalists

for the very short time it lives, after assuming its last and more

perfect form.

l. 78. [See Variant.] The OGLIO, a Sunday paper, advertised about

October last.

=THE PARISH REGISTER.= Variants in edition of 1807 (first edition).

=Part I.=

_Instead of_ ll. 43-50:

Above the mantel bound with ribband blue,

The Swain's emblazon'd Arms demand our view.

In meadow _Vert_, there feeds in _Gules_ a cow,

Beneath an _Argent_ share and _Sable_ plough;

While for a crest, an _Azure_ arm sustains

In _Or_ a wheatsheaf, rich with bristling grains.

l. 53. when tried.

l. 54. who prov'd misfortunes.

l. 61. that England fed.

l. 66. That nations dreaded and that Nelson beat.

_instead of_ ll. 67-8:

And here will soon that other fleet be shown,

That Nelson made the ocean's and our own.

l. 85. by famous Heads made out.

l. 86. That teach the simple reader where to doubt.

l. 87. That made him stop.

l. 88. And where he wonder'd then.

l. 112. Laid.

_instead of_ ll. 127-8:

These hear the parent Swain, reclin'd at ease

With half his listening offspring on his knees.

l. 140. The tall _Leek_, tapering with his rushy stem.

l. 177. who knew not sex.

l. 193. gutters flow.

l. 197. woe.

l. 248. drink and play.

l. 270. Glories unsought, the Fathers.

l. 309. an haughty soul.

l. 310. controul.

l. 314. seldom shed.

l. 339. What then was left, these Lovers to requite?

l. 368. Higler's.

l. 369. antient.

_instead of_ ll. 371-2:

Day after day were past in grief and pain,

Week after week, nor came the Youth again;

_instead of_ ll. 417-18:

Few were their Acres,--but they, well content,

Were on each pay-day, ready with their rent;

_instead of_ ll. 453-60:

'Far other thoughts, your Reverence, caus'd the ill,

'Twas pure good-nature, not a wanton will;

They urg'd me, paid me, beg'd me to comply, }

Not hard of heart, or slow to yield am I, }

But prone to grant as melting charity. }

For wanton wishes, let the frail-ones smart,

But all my failing is a tender heart.'

l. 470. Gerrard.

_instead of_ ll. 471-2:

Seven have I nam'd, and but six years have past

By him and Judith since I bound them fast.

l. 477. he would no more increase.

l. 481. humbled.

l. 521. pedlar's.

l. 539. woe with woe.

l. 540. "Ah! Humphrey! Humphrey!"

l. 558. said Humphrey.

l. 559. an husband's.

l. 569. antient.

_instead of_ ll. 582-3:

To prove these arrows of the giants' hand,

Are not for man to stay or to command.

_instead of_ l. 604:

Of news or nothing, she by looks compel.

l. 628. _Artimisia_.

l. 631. _Senecio_.

l. 649. turged _Anthers_.

_instead of_ l. 650:

"But haste and bear them to their spouse away;

In a like bed you'll see that spouse reclin'd,

(Oh! haste and bear them, they like love are blind,)

l. 652. make the marriage sure.

l. 663. to life's great duty, Love.

l. 676. some notice they will claim.

_instead of_ ll. 678-9:

The straitest furrow lifts the ploughman's heart,

Or skill allow'd firm in the bruiser's art.

l. 700. For he who lent a name to babe unknown.

l. 702. they ask'd the name of all.

l. 713. controul.

l. 743. that seem'd.

l. 744. that nothing meant.

l. 748. steelly.

l. 751. still more sure about the world.

l. 784. Keeps looking on the ground.

l. 785. These looks and sighs.

l. 803. transcendant.

l. 811. Bishoprick.

l. 826. Passions.

l. 833. Spencer; Spencer's.

_The note to_ l. 833 _is omitted in the first edition._

=Part II.=

_Instead of_ ll. 5-6:

If Poor, Delay shall for that Want prepare,

That, on the hasty, brings a World of Care;

_instead of_ l. 17:

Yet thee too long, let not thy Fears detain

l. 19. tied.

l. 26. Banns.

_instead of_ ll. 34-60.

Fie, Nathan! fie! to let a sprightly Jade

Leer on thy Bed, then ask thee how 'twas made

And lingering walk around at Head and Feet,

To see thy nightly Comforts all complete;

Then waiting seek--not what she said she sought,

And bid a Penny for her Master's Thought;--

(A Thought she knew, and thou could'st not send hence,

Well as thou lov'dst them, for ten thousand Pence!)

And thus with some bold Hint she would retire,

That wak'd the idle Wish and stirr'd the slumbering Fire;

Didst thou believe thy Passion all so laid }

That thou might'st trifle with thy wanton Maid, }

And feel amus'd, and yet not feel afraid? }

The dryest Faggot, Nathan, once was green,

And laid on Embers, still some Sap is seen;

Oaks, bald like thee above, that cease to grow,

Feel yet the Warmth of Spring and Bud below;

More senseless thou than Faggot on the Fire

For thou could'st feel and yet would'st not retire;

Less provident than dying Trees,--for they }

Some vital Strength, some living Fire display, }

But none that tend to wear the Life itself away. }

Ev'n now I see thee to the Altar come;

Downcast thou wert and conscious of thy Doom:

I see thee glancing on that Shape aside,

With blended Looks of Jealousy and Pride;

But growing Fear has long the Pride supprest,

And but one Tyrant rankles in thy Breast;

Now of her Love, a second Pledge appears,

And Doubts on Doubts arise, and Fears on Fears;

Yet Fear defy, and be of Courage stout,

Another Pledge will banish every Doubt;

Thine Age advancing as thy Powers retire,

Will make thee sure--What more would'st thou require?

l. 68. antient.

l. 96. Drew Oil, drew Essence.

l. 100. Mrs.

l. 269. And hid the Snare, prepar'd to catch the Maid.

l. 290. Scrolls.

_instead of_ ll. 301-308:

Is it that strong and sturdy in the Field

They scorn the Arms of idle Men to wield

Or give that Hand to guide the Goosequill Tip,

That rules a Team, and brandishes a whip?

The Lions they, whom conscious Power forbid,--

To play the Ape and "dandle with the Kid."

l. 313. For Bridget Dawdle.

l. 317. To Roger Pluck.

l. 321. In all his Dealings, Hodge was just and true.

l. 340. Bridget's.

l. 341. Roger.

l. 351. Bridget.

l. 353. Roger's.

l. 355. Roger's _bis_.

_instead of_ ll. 372-375:

So two dried Sticks, all fled the vital juice,

When rubb'd and chaf'd, their latent Heat produce;

All in one part unite the cheering Rays,

And kindling burn with momentary Blaze.

l. 380. when touch'd with Galvin's Wire.

_instead of_ ll. 400-1:

No more she plays, no more attempts to fit

Her Steps responsive to the squeaking Kit,

l. 419. in room apart.

l. 424. And Wives like these assert and prove their own;

l. 430. (_note_). Spencer.

l. 437. Nor sought their Bliss, at _Cupid's_ wild Commands,

l. 444. was her Reuben's Care;

_instead of_ ll. 461-66:

Nor these alone, (though favour'd more) are blest;

In time, the Rash, in time, the Wretched rest;

They first-sad years of Want and Anguish know,

Their Joys come seldom, and their Pains pass slow;

_instead of_ ll. 473-4:

When Life's Afflictions long with dread endur'd,

By Time are lessen'd, or by Caution cur'd;

l. 477. And calm in Cares, with Patience, Man and Wife,

l. 490. Quite.

_instead of_ ll. 491-2:

For me, (he thinks,) shall soon this Deed be done,

A few steps forward, and my Race is run;

l. 499. He gives his Friend a tear, and heaves himself a sigh.

l. 516. Plowman's.

l. 521. spare, for Rapture to enjoy?

_instead of_ ll. 565-7:

Who caus'd the Anguish they disdain'd to heal,

Have at some time, the Power of Virtue known,

And felt another's good promote their own:

l. 568. the youth.

l. 569. Who took the Maid, with innocence and truth;

l. 572. its vigour keep.

l. 583. When Beauty all decays.

=Part III.=

l. 33. that sad submission.

l. 48. as a Sinner's Right.

l. 49. God is good.

l. 50. And, none have liv'd, as Wisdom wills they should.

l. 54. To think about beginning to repent.

l. 65. That feels the useful Pain, Repentance brings.

l. 66. Dejection's Sorrows.

l. 67. And then, the Hope, that Heaven these Griefs approve.

l. 68. And lastly Joy that springs.

l. 75. Collet.

_instead of_ ll. 151-2:

Like that industrious Kind, no thoughts of Sex

No cares of Love, could her chaste Soul perplex.

l. 159. welcome at her Board to share.

_After_ l. 172: As Bridget churn'd the Butter, for her Hand.

l. 173. (Geese, Hens, and Turkeys following where she went.)

l. 185. as the more.

l. 186. She grasp'd with greater force.

l. 212. To bear a Grandchild.

l. 219. check the passions.

l. 220. Youth's Disappointments, the Regrets of Age.

_instead of_ ll. 225-31:

Blest is the Nurseling never taught to sing,

But thrust untimely from its Mother's Wing;

Or the grown Warbler, who, with grateful Voice,

Sings its own Joy and makes the Grove rejoice;

Because, ere yet he charm'd th' attentive Ear.

l. 278. aweful.

l. 283. woe's.

l. 297. Studds.

l. 329. Catharine's.

l. 345. And held the Golden Watch, the Ruby-Rings.

l. 357. the Lady's.

l. 381. On Pride that governs, Pleasure that will grow.

l. 394. Bawbles.

l. 412. Catharine.

l. 428. the Joy.

l. 431. that wounds.

l. 432. Who miss one Comfort that.

l. 434. He felt with many.

l. 436. an old Neighbour.

l. 443. he knew.

l. 444. More skilful none, and skill'd like him, but few.

_instead of_ 458-60:

By the new Light, to the new Way direct;--

"Mine now are Faith and Hope," he said; "Adieu!

I fear to lose them, in a way so new."

_instead of_ ll. 467-8:

His honest Fame he yet retain'd; no more,

His wife was buried, and his Children poor;

l. 473. And just, as kind.

l. 474. And then for Comforts.

l. 477. with him to live.

l. 478. Who, while he feeds me, is as loath to give.

l. 480. guages.

l. 485. to mourn my Lot is vain.

l. 486. Mine it is not to choose but to sustain.

l. 495. aweful.

l. 499. that suppliant Look.

l. 500. Nor that pure Faith, that gave it Force are there.

l. 510. Intic'd.

l. 565. An House.

l. 573. And thus he rose, but tried.

_instead of_ ll. 594-6:

And all was Terror, till all Hope was gone;

Was silent Terror, where that Hope grew weak,

Look'd on the Sick, and was asham'd to speak.

l. 601. So sure.

l. 654. Glib.

l. 664. Glib.

l. 670. With Luck and Leah.

l. 675. "Nay, but," he said "and dare you.

l. 700. Judgement.

l. 715. Woe.

l. 825. Ailes.

l. 848. sly Dissenters.

l. 863. An whoreson Cough.

l. 882. Gypsies.

l. 891. Aile.

l. 921. antient.

l. 966. while Parents them and us forsake.

=THE BIRTH OF FLATTERY.= Variants in edition of 1807 (first edition).

l. 1. Spencer.

l. 15. Siren.

l. 21. An hireling.

l. 50. Dissentions.

l. 52. Say what Success has one Projection crown'd?

l. 60. Ingulph'st.

l. 65. worthless Arts.

l. 111. nuptual.

l. 125. repay'd.

l. 191. antient.

l. 213. controul.

l. 304. _Gorze_.

l. 317. Tenniers.

l. 333. Mein.

l. 344. that well their Worth she knew.

l. 347. While all Disgrace attend.

=SIR EUSTACE GREY.= Variants in edition of 1807 (first edition).

l. 23. Will sometimes point.

l. 24. And will with.

l. 26. Will veil.

l. 37. Well! I am calm.

l. 38. woe.

l. 58. an.

l. 171. Dæmons.

l. 234. Travellers.

Note 3, l. 5. Intended to cast ridicule on any religious persuasion.

l. 8. enthusiastical.

_The notes appear as footnotes in the first edition._

=THE HALL OF JUSTICE.= Variants in edition of 1807 (first edition).

=Part I.=

l. 11. forbad.

l. 36. woe.

l. 41. on Want and Error.

=WOMAN!= Variants in edition of 1807 (first edition).

l. 1. Africk's.

l. 4. Dæmons.

=THE BOROUGH.= Variants in the edition of 1810 (first edition).

=Preface.=

p. =266=, l. 9. may fairly be.

l. 24. values.

p. =268=, l. 16. connections.

p. =269=, l. 12. an hope.

p. =271=, l. 5, enquiries.

p. =273=, l. 13, enquiry.

_ib._ l. 28. controul.

p. =274=, l. 35. attornies.

p. =275=, l. 2. license.

_ib._ l. 39. set down.

p. =276=, l. 7. give us more favourable view.

p. =277=, l. 33. an hundred.

p. =278=, l. 2. an happier.

_ib._ l. 31. immoveable.

p. =279=, l. 14. _after_ insane,: and why the visions of his distempered

brain should be of so horrible a nature.

p. =282=, l. 7. mottos.

=Letter 1.=

l. 85. wreathes.

l. 153. an House.

l. 156. tipling.

l. 175. stoney Beech.

l. 195. o'ershrowd.

l. 290. rimpling.

=Letter 2.=

Synopsis, l. 2. Columns and Aysles;

l. 8. Grief in the surviver.

l. 29. Yet Gothic all.

l. 34. aisle.

l. 40. grey.

l. 57. greys.

l. 62. grey.

l. 76. The stoney Tower as grey.

l. 114. Woe.

l. 127. teiz'd.

=Letter 3.=

l. 46. inlists.

l. 62. antient.

l. 105. charardes.

l. 127. antient.

l. 132. aisle ... aisle.

l. 137. woe.

_instead of_ ll. 158-159:

Mamma approv'd a safe contented guest

And Miss a Friend to back a small request;

_instead of_ ll. 202-205:

Oh! had he learn'd to make the Wig he wears,

To throw the Shuttle or command the Sheers,

Or the strong Boar-skin for the Saddle shap'd,

What pangs, what terrors had the Man escap'd.

l. 214. woeful.

=Letter 4.=

Synopsis, l. 3. Swedenburgeans.

ll. 5, 9. Armenian.

l. 12. extatic.

l. 21. doat, extacies.

l. 70. tye.

l. 75. Dioclecian.

l. 120. antient.

l. 129. antient.

l. 168. Swedenbourgeans.

l. 184. Phaætons.

l. 191. chastizing.

l. 205. rev'rendly.

l. 230. bye-word.

l. 255. antient.

_instead of_ ll. 258-259:

True _Independants_: while they _Calvin_ hate,

They heed as little what _Socinians_ state;

They judge _Arminians Antinomians_ stray

Nor _England's Church_, nor Church on Earth obey;

l. 260. But for themselves.

l. 264. inlists.

l. 267. Westley.

l. 299. an helping hand.

l. 338. ingulph'd.

l. 389. antient, Westley.

l. 419. naught.

l. 477. stoney.

l. 487. stoney-cold.

l. 500. aweful.

l. 503. woe.

=Letter 5.=

l. 92. for then he's most.

l. 113. burrs.

_instead of_ ll. 167-170:

In fact the Fisher was amaz'd; as soon

Could he have judg'd Gold issued from the Moon;

But being taught, he griev'd with ail his heart,

For lack of knowledge in this precious art;

=Letter 6.=

l. 52. Socilitor.

l. 64. the far-resounding.

l. 75. buz.

l. 108. controul.

l. 114. Whose Sons aspiring, for Professions call.

l. 292. dosing.

l. 295. if he try.

l. 298. strait.

l. 306. doat.

l. 335. He'd balked.

=Letter 7.=

Synopsis, l. 6. Empiricks.

l. 8. Empirick.

_instead of_ ll. 1-4:

From Law to Physic stepping at our ease,

We find a way to finish--by degrees;

Forgive the quibble, and in graver style,

We'll sing of those with whom we seldom smile.

l. 15. an hope.

l. 19. Physician.

_instead of_ l. 59:

So Merit suffers, while a Fortune's made.

l. 64. the licenc'd Tribe.

l. 79. Coblers.

l. 80. Lyars.

l. 96. their Patents.

l. 111. Schirrus.

l. 124. Empirick's.

l. 147. fewel.

l. 156. intreats.

l. 257. controul.

l. 262. bar'd

l. 268. Ev'n. some who'd known him.

l. 271. neither reason.

=Letter 8.=

Synopsis, l. 5. _After_ 'The Weaver an Entomologist, etc.

_insert_ 'Hunting Butterflies,' etc.

l. 18. an high.

l. 27. expence.

l. 30. Th' estimate that's made.

l. 216. controul

=Letter 9.=

l. 17. an Hall.

l. 27. Sheers.

l. 64. Where.

l. 152. Expence.

l. 154. favouring Gale.

l. 176. this Envy.

l. 197. on the Waters float.

l. 198. Note.

l. 216. Shores to Shores.

=Letter 10.=

Synopsis, l. 5. Petulences.

l. 121. an happier few.

l. 123. not fretful.

l. 129. antient.

_instead of_ ll. 165-6:

Against their Nature they might show their Skill

With small Success, who're Maids against their will.

l. 167. bashful muse.

l. 253, 258. Aye.

l. 293. Gulph.

l. 353. gregareous.

l. 382. tye.

l. 385. Himself to strengthen, or himself to shun;

=Letter 11.=

l. 55. Ribbands.

l. 78. the work of Treason done.

_instead of_ ll. 79-80:

Have, like the _Guillotine_, the royal Neck

Parted in twain--the Figure is a Wreck;

l. 102. antient.

l. 136. Styes.

l. 143. Basons.

l. 185. antient.

l. 286. Controul.

l. 287. an Home.

=Letter 12.=

Synopsis, l. 6. An Heroine;

l. 8. Frederic.

l. 21. an House.

l. 54. an Hero's.

l. 65. Havock.

l. 75. Woe.

l. 87. Wane.

l. 94. in the appointed Course.

l. 105. pityful.

l. 136. Woe.

l. 148. Woe.

l. 185. teiz'd.

l. 195. Taylor's.

l. 202. Frederic.

_instead of_ ll. 205-6:

It was not quite within the Merchant's line.

To think of College, but the Boy would shine.

l. 207. he'd prosper, none could doubt.

l. 214. Frederic.

l. 222. Frederic.

l. 236. authoriz'd:

_between_ ll. 266-7:

Vice, dreadful habit! when assum'd so long,

Becomes at length inveterately strong;

As more indulg'd it gains the Strength we lose,

Maintains its Conquests and extends it Views;

Till the whole Soul submitting to its Chains,

It takes possession, and for ever reigns.

l. 282. an Home.

l. 298. an Home.

l. 330. an Hoy.

l. 332. Frederic.

l. 339. Enquiries.

l. 341. Frederic.

l. 347. Enquiry.

l. 356. an happier.

l. 369. Woe.

=Letter 13.=

_Instead of_ ll. 5-6:

He wore his Coat till every Thread was bare,

And fed his Body with the meanest Fare;

l. 13. Crumbs.

l. 25. favorite.

_instead of_ ll. 27-28:

Haunts have been trac'd to which he nightly went,

And serious Sums in private Pleasures spent;

l. 78. Controul.

l. 107. controul.

l. 121. Detracter.

l. 135. Enquiry.

_instead of_ l. 173: Small is his private Room: you'd find him there.

l. 188. an herd.

_instead of_ ll. 191-2:

You'd meet Sir Denys in a morning Ride,

And be convinced he'd not a spark of Pride;

l. 202. Equipt.

l. 203. an Horse.

l. 207. An handsome Youth _Sir Denys_; and an Horse.

l. 214. Aye.

l. 226. cloath'd.

l. 244. controul'd.

l. 275. try'd.

l. 296. t' asswage.

=Letter 14.=

Synopsis, l. 6. Connections.

l. 17. Enquiry.

l. 31. Expences.

l. 49. try'd.

l. 58. antient.

l. 120. this final Hoard.

_instead of_ l. 138: Those whom he'd daily shaken by the hand.

l. 145. Billedeux.

l. 148. an useful.

_instead of_ l. 165: He'll even read to learn the Ill they've done.

l. 169. he'll dispose the Mind.

l. 212. antient.

=Letter 15.=

l. 19. and Poems.

l. 93. an Heart so fond, an Hand so priz'd;

l. 108. straiter.

l. 152. try'd.

l. 216. antient.

=Letter 16.=

Synopsis, l. 11. Dolly.

l. 86. Vallies.

l. 90. forebore.

l. 127. 'twould not believe its Eyes.

l. 128. 'Twould sadly glide.

l. 132. an huge.

l. 133. an huge.

l. 156. Breakfasts.

l. 159. teiz'd.

l. 183. railing.

l. 209. She held him babish and his Captives blind.

_instead of_ ll. 211-213:

Her Sexe's Pattern, without Thoughts of Sex;

Our timid Girls and Lovers half afraid,

All shunn'd the Speeches of the frank old maid.

l. 230. antient.

=Letter 17.=

l. 7. Woe.

l. 17. all have.

l. 41. inclose.

l. 48. has never heard.

l. 78. Woe.

l. 113. bruize.

l. 138. an House.

l. 208. Tyes.

l. 248. place in view.

l. 261. well-dry'd.

l. 277. do the work.

=Letter 18.=

Synopsis, l. 8. Bye-Ways.

l. 12. antient.

l. 24. antient.

l. 94. antient.

l. 130. Woe.

l. 199. try'd.

l. 218. 'till he's run his Race.

l. 222. antient.

_instead of_ l. 264:

Which that low Paling, form'd of Wreck, surround;

l. 270. relicks.

l. 318. an Handmaid.

l. 327. Virtue's.

l. 332. an Humourist.

l. 336. an Home.

l. 365. antient.

l. 369. contain.

l. 389. fry'd.

Notes. _These appear in the first edition as footnotes._

=Letter 19.=

_Instead of_ ll. 18-19:

This book-taught Man, with ready mind receiv'd

More than Church commanded or believ'd;

l. 64. their very Look's a charm.

l. 94. try'd.

l. 110. Abash'd.

l. 131. an hearing.

l. 196. Aisle.

l. 259. cry'd.

l. 269. _not in inverted commas_.

l. 299. enquir'd.

=Letter 20.=

Synopsis, l. 6. An Husband.

l. 7. The Men's.

l. 34. _Darnly-Cottages_.

l. 59. Chateux.

l. 97. an Hound.

l. 101. Woe.

l. 112. Woe.

l. 135. teiz'd.

l. 182. an Hovel's.

l. 196. affrighten'd.

_instead of_ ll. 262-3:

I would all Memory of his Fate were fled

He was our second Child, our darling _Ned_;

l. 269. Slight.

l. 283. Tyger.

l. 299. might be proud.

Notes. _These appear in the first edition as footnotes._

Note 1. l. 1. Southerwood.

l. 2. _Artimisia_.

Note 2. l. 2. tenor.

l. 6. teazing.

l. 10. teazed.

=Letter 21.=

l. 51. aukward.

l. 86. antient.

l. 110. thine Heart.

l. 122. (thou had'st them).

l. 183. laid.

l. 184. blest the dying Maid.

l. 211. Pedlar's.

l. 214. Entitled.

l. 218. stedfast.

l. 231. lead.

_instead of_ l. 263:

Oh! please your Rev'rence, rev'rendly I said.

l. 289. woe.

Note. _This does not appear in the first edition._

=Letter 22.=

Synopsis, l. 6. insipient.

l. 30. an happy Time.

l. 54. controul.

l. 69. enquir'd.

l. 165. an helping Hand.

l. 228. Dæmons.

l. 259. could'nt.

l. 361. Dæmons.

=Letter 23.=

Synopsis, l. 6. an Highwayman.

l. 78. succeed.

l. 89. The Folly diverse.

l. 102. an Home.

l. 105. try'd.

l. 165. enquiries.

l. 184. Woe.

l. 219. Controul.

l. 308. brouzes.

=Letter 24.=

l. 27. an heavy Load.

l. 104. Strife on both sides.

l. 129. an heavy Eye.

l. 188. All Hardship.

l. 250. illude the Burdens.

_instead of_ l. 276:

Of Money wasted! when no taste remain.

l. 290. controuls.

l. 310. Dependants.

l. 334. bear.

l. 335. slily.

l. 339, footnote, _not in first edition_.

l. 380. savory.

l. 387. an high degree.

END OF VOL. I.

CAMBRIDGE: PRINTED BY JOHN CLAY, M.A. AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.

Transcriber's Note:

Regarding the set of lines beginning with

"When shall I rest--O! let me, Night, [besiege]

Thy drowsy Ear with wailing, but be thou 440

[Tenacious] of my Guilt;

due to a page break it could not be said from the layout whether a new

stanza began before; however, as the last line before that line ends

in an em-dash, and since that usually indicates the end of a stanza,

the line quoted above was treated as the beginning of a new stanza.

The typesetter of the original used a mix of endnotes (at the end of

poems or ballads) and footnotes. In order to avoid confusing

interruptions of this text version, all footnotes were converted to

endnotes located after the chapter, ballad or poem to which they

belong. Endnotes which were such in the original contain references to

their original anchor (e.g. "Note 1, page 489, line 308.")