Such is that room which one rüde beam divides,
And naked rafters form the floping fides;
Where the vile bands that bind the thatch are feen,

And lath and mud are all that lie between;
Savcone dull pane, that, coarfely patch'd,gives way
To the rude tempeft, yet excludes the day:
Here, on a matted flock, with duft o'erspread,
The drooping wretch reclines his languid head;
For him no hand the cordial cup applies,
Nor wipes the tear that ftagnates in his eyes;
No friends with foft difcourfe his pain beguile,
Nor promife hope till ficknefs wears a finile.

9 127. Defcription of a Country Apothecary.
CRABBE.
BUT foon a loud and hafty fummons calls,
Shakes the thin roof, and echoes roundthewalls:
Anon a figure enters, quaintly neat,
All pride and bus nefs, buftle and conceit;
With looks unalter'd by these scenes of woe,
With fpeed that, entering, fpeaks his hafte to go;
He bids the gazing throng around him fly,
Aud carries fate and phyfic in his eye;
A potent quack, long vers'd in human ills,
Who firft infults the victim whom he kills;
Whofe murd'rous hand a drowsy bench protect,
And whofe moft tender mercy is neglect.

Paid by the parifh for attendance here,
He wears contempt upon his fapient fneer;
In hafte he fecks the bed where mifery lies,
Impatience mark'd in his averted eyes;
And, fome habitual queries hurried o'er,
Without reply, he rushes on the door :
His drooping patient, long inur'd to pain,
And long unheeded, knows remonstrance vain;
He ceafes now the feeble help to crave
Of man, and mutely haftens to the grave.

§ 129. The Reason for defcribing the Vices of the Village. CRABBE.

YET why, you afk, thefe humble crimes relate,
Why make the poor as guilty as the great?
To fhew the great, thofe mightier fons of pride,
How near in vice the loweft are allied;
Such are their natures, and their paffions fuch,
But thefe difguife too little, thofe too much:
So fhall the man of pow'r and pleasure fee
In his own flave as vile a wretch as he;
In his luxuriant lord the fervant find
His own low pleasures and degenerate mind:
And each in all the kindred vices trace

Of a poor, blind, bewilder'd, erring race;
Who, a short time in varied fortune past,
Die, and are equal in the dust at last.
And you, ye poor, who still lament your fate,
Forbear to envy thofe you reckon great;
And know, amid thofe bletfings they poffefs,
They are, like you, the victims of distress;
While Sloth with many a pang torments her flave,
Fear waits on guilt, and Danger fhakes thebrave.

§ 130. Apology for Vagrants. ANON. FOR him, who, loft to ev'ry hope of life,

Has long with fortune held unequal strife, Known to no human love, no human care, The friendless, homeless object of despair; For the poor vagrant feel, while he complains, Nor from fad freedom fend to fadder chains. Alike, if folly or misfortune brought Thofe laft of woes his evil days have wrought; Relieve with focial mercy, and with me, Folly's misfortune in the first degree.

Perhaps on fome inhofpitable fhore

The houfelefs wretch a widow'd parent bore;
Who, then no more by golden profpects led,
Of the poor Indian begg'd a leafy bed.
Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain,

BUT

CRABBE.

Bent o'er her babe, her eye diffolv'd in dew, The big drops mingling with the milk he drew, Gave the fad prefage of his future years, The child of mifery, baptiz'd in tears! $131. Epifle to a young Gentleman, on his leaving Eton School. By Dr. ROBERTS. SINCE now a nobler fcene awakes thy care,

Since manhood dawning, to fair Granta's tow'rs, Where once in life's gay fpring I lov'd to roam, Invites thy willing fteps; accept, dear youth, This parting ftrain; accept the fervent pray'r Of him who loves thee with a paffion pure As ever friendship dropp'd in human heart; The prayer, That he who guides the hand of youth Thro' all the puzzled and perplexed round Of life's meand'ring path, upon thy head May shower down every bleffing, every joy, Which health, which virtue, and which fame can give!

Yet think not I will deign to flatter thee: Shall he, the guardian of thy faith and truth,` The guide, the pilot of thy tender years,

Teach thy young heart to feel a fpurious glow

Hh2

Ar

At undeferved praife? Perifh the flave
Whofe venal breath in youth's unpractis'd ear
Pours poifon'd flattery, and corrupts the foul
With vain conceit; whofe bafe ungenerous art
Fawns on the vice, which fome with honeft hand
Have torn for ever from the bleeding breast.
Say, gentle youth, remember'st thou the day
When o'er thy tender fhoulders first I hung
The golden lyre, and taught thy trembling hand
Totouch th' accordant ftrings: From that bleft hour
I've feen thee panting up the hill of fame;
Thy little heart beat high with honeft praife,
Thy check was flush'd, and oft thy sparkling eye
Shot flames of young ambition. Never quench
That generous ardour in thy virtuous breaft.
Sweet is the concord of harmonious founds,
When the foft lute or pealing organ
ftrikes
The well-attemper'd ear; fweet is the breath
Of honeft love, when nymph and gentle fwain
Waft fighs alternate to each other's heart:
But nor the concord of harmonious founds,
When the foft lute or pealing organ ftrikes
The well-attemper'd ear; nor the sweet breath
Of honeft love, when nymph and gentle swain
Waft fighs alternate to each other's heart,
So charm with ravifhment the raptur'd fenfe,
As does the voice of well-deferv'd report
Strike with fweet melody the conscious foul.

[pife

On ev'ry object thro' the giddy world Which fathion to the dazzled eye prefents, Fresh is the glofs of newnefs; look, dear youth, O look, but not admire: O let not thefe Rafe from thy noble heart the fair records Which youth and education planted there : Let not affection's full impetuous tide, Which riots in thy generous breast, be check'd By fellifh cares; nor let the idle jeers Of laughing fools make thee forget thyfelf. When didit thou hear a tender tale of woe, And feel thy heart at reft? Have I not seen In thy fwoln eye the tear of fympathy, The milk of human kindnefs When didft thou, With envy rankling, hear a rival prais'd? When didst thou flight the wretched? When deThe modeft humble fuit of poverty? Thefe virtues ftill be thine; nor ever learn To look with cold eye on the charities Of brother, or of parents; think on thofe Whole anxious care thro' childhood's flippery path Suftain'd thy feeble steps; whofe every with 's waited till to thee; remember thofe, Even in thy heart while memory holds her feat. And oft as to thy mind thou shalt recal The fweet companions of thy earlieft years, Mates of thy fport, and rivals in the firife Of every gene ous art, remember me. $132. Great Cities, and London in particular, allowed their due Praife. CowPER. BUT tho' true worth and virtue in the mild And genial foil of cultivated life Thrive moft, and may perhaps thrive only there, Yet not in cifics oft; in proud, and gay, And gain-devoted cities. Thither flow, As to a cominon and moft noifome fewer,

Is

The dregs and feculence of ev'ry land.
In cities, foul example on moft minds
Begets its likenefs. Rank abundance breeds
In grofs and pamper'd cities floth and luft,
And wantonnefs, and gluttonous excess.
In cities, vice is hidden with most eafe,
Or feen with leaft reproach; and virtue, taught
By frequent lapfe, can hope no triumph there
Beyond th' achievement of fuccesful flight.
I do confefs them nurs'ries of the arts,
In which they flourish moft; where, in the beams
Of warm encouragement, and in the eye
Of public note, they reach their perfect fize.
Such London is, by tafte and wealth proclaim'd
The fairest capital of all the world,
By riot and incontinence the worst.
There, touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes
A lucid mirror, in which Nature fees
All her reflected features. Bacon there
Gives more than female beauty to a stone,
And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips.
Nor does the chifel occupy alone

The pow'rs of fculpture, but the style as much;
Each province of her art her equal care.
With nice incifion of her guided teel
She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a foil
So fterile with what charms foc'er the will,
The richeft fcenery, and the lovelieft forms.
Where finds philofophy her eagle eye,
With which the gazes at yon burning difk
Undazzled, and detects and counts his fpots ?
In London. Where her inplements exact,
With which the calculates, computes, and scans,
All diftance, motion, magnitude; and now
Mcafures an atom, and now girds a world?
In London. Where has commerce fuch a mart,
So rich, fo throng'd, fo drain'd, and fo fupplied
As London, opulent, enlarg'd, and ftill
Increafing London? Babylon of old
Not more the glory of the earth, than the
A more accomplish'd world's chief glory now.

She has her praife. Now mark a spor or two
That fo much beauty would do well to purge;
And fhew this queen of cities, that fo fair
May yet be foul, fo witty yet not wife.
It is not feemly, nor of good report,
That the is flack in difcipline; more prompt
T'avenge than to prevent the breach of law.
That the is rigid in denouncing death
On petty robbers, and indulges life
And liberty, and oft-times honour too,
To peculators of the public gold.

That thieves at home inuft hang; but he that puts
Into his overgorg'd and bloated purfe
The wealth of Indian provinces, efcapes.
Nor is it well, nor can it come to good,
That, through profane and infidel contempt,
Of holy writ, the has prefum'd t'annul
And abrogate, as roundly as the may,
The total ordinance and will of God;
Advancing fashion to the poft of truth,
And cent ring all authority in modes
And cuftoms of her own, till Sabbath rites
Have dwindled into unrefpected forms,
And knees and haflocks are well nigh-divored.

God

God made the country, and man made the town. What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts That can alone make fweet the bitter draught That life holds out to all, fhould most abound, And least be threaten'd, in the fields and groves? Poffefs therefore, ye ye who, borne about In chariots and fedans, know no fatigue But that of idleness, and tafte no fcenes But fuch as art contrives, poffefs ye ftill Your element; there only ye can fhine, There only minds like yours can do no harm. Our groves were planted to confole at noon The penfive wand'rer in their fhades. At eve The moon-beam, fliding foftly in between The fleeping leaves, is all the light they wish; Birds warbling, all the mufic. We can spare The fplendour of your lamps; they but eclipfe Our fofter fatellite. Your fongs confound Our more harmonious notes. The thrush departs Scar'd, and th' offended nightingale is mute. There is a public mifchief in your mirth; It plagues your country. Folly fuch as yours, Grac'd with a fword, and worthier of a fan, Has made, which enemies could ne'er have done, Our arch of empire, fteadfast but for you, A mutilated structure, foon to fall.

§ 133. The Want of Difcipline in the English Universities. COWPER.

IN colleges and halls, in ancient days,

When Learning, virtue, piety, and truth,
Were precious, and inculcated with care,
There dwelt a fage call'd Difcipline. His head
Not yet by time completely filver'd o'er,
Belpoke him paft the bounds of freakish youth,
But ftrong for fervice ftill, and unimpair'd.
His eye was meck and gentle, and a mile
Play'd on his lips, and in his fpeech was heard
Paternal fweetnefs, dignity, and love,
The occupation deareft to his heart
Was to encourage goodnefs. He would stroke
The head of modeft and ingenuous worth
That blufh'd at its own praife, and prefs the youth
Clofe to his fide that pleas'd him. Learning grew,
Beneath his care, a thriving vigorous plant;
The mind was well inform'd, the pallions held
Subordinate, and diligence was choice.
If e'er it chanc'd, as fometimes chance it must,
That one among fo many overleap'd
The limits of controul, his gentle eye
Grew ftern, and darted a fevere rebuke;
His frown was full of terror, and his voice
Shook the delinquent with fuch fits of awe,
As left him not till penitence had won
Loft favour back again, and clos'd the breach.
Bur Difcipline, a faithful fervant long,
Declin'd at length into the vale of years:
A palfy ftruck his arm; his fparkling eye
Was quench'd in rheums of age; his voice un-
ftrung

Grew tremulous, and mov'd derifion more
Than rev'rence in perverfe rebellious youth.
So colleges and halls neglected much

Their good old friend; and Difcipline at length,
O'erlook'd and unemploy'd, fell fick and died.
Then Study languifh'd, Emulation flept,
And Virtue fled. The fchools became a scene
Of folemn farce, where ignorance in ftilts,
His cap
well lin'd with logic not his own,
With parrot tongue perform'd the fcholar's part,
Proceeding foon a graduated Dunce.
Then Compromife had place, and Scrutiny
Became ftone-blind, Precedence went in truck,
And he was competent whofe purse was so.
A diffolution of all bonds enfued:

The curbs invented for the mulish mouth
Of headstrong youth were broken; bars and bolts
Grew rufty by difufe; and maffy gates
Forgot their office, op'ning with a touch;
Till gowns at length are found mere masquerade;
The taffel'd cap and the spruce band a jeft,
A mock'ry of the world. What need of thefe
For gamefters, jockies, brothellers impure,
Spendthrifts, and booted sportsmen, oft'ner feen
With belted waift, and pointers at their heels,
Thas in the bounds of duty? What was,learn'd,
If aught was learn'd in childhood, is forgot;
And fuch expence as pinches parents blue,
And mortifies the lib'ral hand of love,
Is fquander'd in purfuit of idle sports
And vicious pleafures; buys the boy a name,
That fits a ftigma on his father's houfe,
And cleaves through life infeparably close
To him that wears it. What can after-games
Of riper joys, and commerce with the world,
The lewd vain world that muft receive him foon,
Add to fuch erudition thus acquir'd,
Where science and where virtue are profefs'd?
They may confirm his habits, rivet faft
His folly; but to fpoil him is a task
That bids defiance to th' united pow'rs
Of fashion, diffipation, taverns, ftews.
Now, blame we moft the nurflings or the nurfe?
The children crook'd, and twisted, and deform'd
Through want of care, or her whofe winking eye
And flumb'ring ofcitancy mars the brood?
The nurfe no doubt. Regardless of her charge,
She needs herself correction; needs to learn,
That it is dang 'rous fporting with the world,
With things fo facred as a nation's truft,
The nurture of her youth, her dearest pledge.

$134. Happy the Freedom of the Man

Grace makes free—His Relish of the Works of God-Address to the Creator. COW PER. HE is the freeman whom the truth makes free,

And all are flaves befide. There's not a chain That hellish foes confed'rate for his harm Can wind around him, but he cafts it off With as much ease as Samfon his green withes. He looks abroad into the varied field Of Nature; and tho' poor, perhaps, compar'd With thofe whofe manfions glitter in his fight, Calls the delightful fcen'ry all his own. His are the mountains, and the valleys his, And the refplendent rivers; his t'enjoy With a propriety that none can feel,