The Poetical Works of George Crabbe

Each had the common interest so at heart,
It would have grieved them terribly to part;
And as they both were serious and sedate,
"Twas long before the world began to prate:
But when it prated,-though without a

cause,

It put the pair in mind of breaking laws,
Led them to reason what it was that gave
A husband power, when quiet in his grave.
The marriage contract they had now by
heart-

'Till death!'-you see, no longer-' do us part.'

'Well! death has loosed us from the tie, but still

The loosen'd husband makes a binding will:
Unjust and cruel are the acts of men.'
Thus they-and then they sigh'd-and then
-and then,

''Twas snaring souls,' they said; and how he dared

They did not know-they wonder'd-and were snared.

'It is a marriage, surely! Conscience might

Allow an act so very nearly right:
Was it not witness to our solemn vow,
As man and wife? it must the act allow.'
But Conscience, stubborn to the last, replied,
6 It cannot be! I am not satisfied;
'Tis not a marriage: either dare be poor,
Or dare be virtuous-part, and sin no more.'
Alas! they many a fond evasion made;
They could relinquish neither love nor trade.
They went to church, but thinking, fail'd to

pray;

They felt not ease or comfort at a play: If times were good,- We merit not such times,'

If ill, Is this the produce of our crimes?' When sick-'Tis thus forbidden pleasures cease.'

When well-they both demand, 'Had Zimri peace?

For though our worthy master was not slain, His injured ghost has reason to complain.' Ah, John! bethink thee of thy generous joy,

When Conscience drove thee from thy late employ ;

When thou wert poor, and knew not where

to run,

But then could say 'The will of God be done!'!

When thou that will, and not thine own obey'd,

Of Him alone, and not of man afraid: Thou then hadst pity on that wretch, and, free

Thyself, couldst pray for him who injured thee.

Then how alert thy step, thyself how light All the day long! thy sleep how sound at night!

But now, though plenty on thy board be

found,

And thou hast credit with thy neighbours round,

Yet there is something in thy looks that tells,

An odious secret in thy bosom dwells:
Thy form is not erect, thy neighbours trace
A coward spirit in thy shifting pace.
Thou goest to meeting, not from any call,
But just to hear, that we are sinners all,
And equal sinners, or the difference made
"Twixt man and man has but the slightest
shade;

That reformation asks a world of pains,
And, after all, must leave a thousand stains
And, worst of all, we must the work begin
By first attacking the prevailing sin!—

These thoughts the feeble mind of John

Of true conversion-this will he embrace; For John perceives that he was scarcely tried By the first conquest, that increased his pride, When he refused his master's crime to aid, And by his self-applause was amply paid; But now he feels the difference-feels it hard Against his will and favourite wish to guard : He mourns his weakness, hopes he shall prevail

Against his frailty, and yet still is frail.

Such is his life! and such the life must be Of all who will be bound, yet would be free; Who would unite what God to part decreesThe offended conscience, and the mind at

ease;

Who think, but vainly think, to sin and pray, And God and Mammon in their turn obey. Such is his life!-and so I would not live For all that wealthy widows have to give.

TALE XVII. DANVERS AND RAYNER

THE purest Friendship, like the finest ware, Deserves our praises, but demands our care. For admiration we the things produce, But they are not design'd for common use; Flaws the most trifling from their virtue take, And lamentation for their loss we make : While common Friendships, like the wares of clay,

Are a cheap kind, but useful every day : Though crack'd and damaged, still we make them do,

And when they're broken, they're forgotten

too.

There is within the world in which we dwell A Friendship, answering to that world full well;

An interchange of looks and actions kind,
And, in some sense, an intercourse of mind;
A useful commerce, a convenient trade,
By which both parties are the happier made;
And, when the thing is rightly understood,
And justly valued, it is wise and good.

I speak not here of Friendships that excite In boys at school such wonder and delight,— Of high heroic Friends, in serious strife, Contending which should yield a forfeit lifeSuch wondrous love, in their maturer days, Men, if they credit, are content to praise.

I speak not here of Friendships true and just,

When friend can friend with life and honour trust;

Where mind to mind has long familiar grown,
And every failing, every virtue known:
Of these I speak not: things so rich and rare,
That we degrade with jewels to compare,
Or bullion pure and massy.-I intend
To treat of one whose Neighbour called him
Friend,

Or called him Neighbour; and with reason In Phoebe Rayner found what lovers findgoodSense, beauty, sweetness; all that mortal

The friendship rising from the neighbourhood:
A sober kind, in common service known;
Not such as is in death and peril shown:
Such as will give or ask a helping hand,
But no important sacrifice demand;

eyes

Can see, or heart conceive, or thought devise. And Phoebe's eye, and thought, and heart

could trace

In Richard Danvers every manly grace

All that e'er maiden wish'd, or matron Both full and quick they were; for lovers

prized

So well these good young people sympathised.
All their relations, neighbours, and allies,
All their dependants, visitors, and spies,
Such as a wealthy family caress,

Said here was love, and drank to love's

success.

'Tis thus I leave the parties, young and old, Lovers and Friends. Will Love and Friend

ship hold?

write

With vast despatch, and read with vast delight

So quick they were,-for Love is never
slow,-

So full, they ever seem'd to overflow.
Their hearts are ever fill'd with grief or joy,
And these to paint every hour's employ :
Joy they would not retain; and for their
grief,

Will Prudence with the children's wish To read such letters is a sure relief.

comply,

But, in due time, both joy and grief

supprest,

They found their comfort in a little rest. Mails went and came without the accustom'd freight,

P. I SEE no more within our borough's For Love grew patient, and content to wait

bound

The name of DANVERS! Is it to be found?
Were the young pair in Hymen's fetters tied,
Or did succeeding years the Friends divide?
F. Nay! take the story, as by time brought
forth,

And of such Love and Friendship judge the
worth.

While the lad's love-his parents call'd it so-
Was going on, as well as love could go,
A wealthy Danvers, in a distant place,
Left a large fortune to this favour'd race.
To that same place the father quickly went,
And Richard only murmur'd weak dissent.
Of Richard's heart the parent truly
guess'd :-

Well, my good lad! then do what suits thee

best;

No doubt thy brothers will do all they can
T' obey the orders of the good old man :
Well, I would not thy free-born spirit bind ;
Take, Dick, the way to which thou 'rt most
inclined.'

No answer gave the youth; nor did he

swear

The old man's riches were beneath his care;
Nor that he would with his dear Phoebe stay,
And let his heartless father move away.
No! kind and constant, tender, faithful,
fond,-

Thus far he'd go-but not one step beyond!
Not disobedient to a parent's will-
A lover constant-but dependent still.

Letters, at first, between the constant swain
And the kind damsel banish'd all their pain:

Yet was not dead, nor yet afraid to die;
For though he wrote not, Richard wonder'd
why.

He could not justly tell how letters pass'd,
But, as to him appear'd, he wrote the last :
In this he meant not to accuse the maid-
Love, in some cases, ceases to upbraid.

Yet not indifferent was our Lover grown,
Although the ardour of the flame was flown;
He still of Phoebe thought, her lip, her

smile

But grew contented with his fate the while.
Thus, not inconstant were the youthful pair-
The Lad remembered still the Lass was fair;
And Phoebe still, with half-affected sigh,
Thought it a pity that such love should die;
And had they then, with this persuasion,
met,

Love had rekindled, and been glowing yet.
But times were changed: no mention now
was made

By the old Squire, or by the young, of trade.
The worthy Lady, and her children all,
Had due respect-The People at the Hall.
His Worship now read Burn, and talk'd with
skill

About the poor-house, and the turnpike-bill;
Lord of a manor, he had serious claims,
And knew the poaching rascals by their

names:

And if the father thus improved his mind,
Be sure the children were not far behind :
To rank and riches what respect was due,
To them and theirs what deference, well they
knew ;

And, from the greatest to the least, could show

'Well! he would go; but not, indeed, t' admire

What to the favouring few the favour'd many The state and grandeur of the new-made

The mind of man must have whereon to Danvers, belike, now wealthy, might impart

He cared not what-to praise him was to please :

Yet though his rural neighbours called to dine, And some might kindly praise his food and wine,

This was not certain, and another day,
He must the visit and the praise repay.

By better motives urged-we will suppose--
He thus began his purpose to disclose
To his good lady :- We have lived a year,
And never ask'd our friends the Rayners here:
Do let us ask them-as for Richard's flame,
It went, we see, as idly as it came-
Invite them kindly-here's a power of room,
And the poor people will be glad to come.
Outside and in, the coach will hold them
all,

And set them down beside the garden wall.'
The Lady wrote, for that was all he meant,
Kind soul! by asking for his wife's assent:
And every Rayner was besought to come
To dine in Hulver Hall's grand dining-room.
About this time old Rayner, who had lost
His Friend's advice, was by misfortune
cross'd:

Some debtors fail'd, when large amounts were due,

So large, that he was nearly failing too;
But he, grown wary, that he might not fail,
Brought to in adverse gales, and shorten'd

sail :

This done, he rested, and could now attend The invitation of his distant Friend.

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The tidings reach'd me on the very day
That villain robb'd us, and then ran away.
Loss upon loss! now if-

He had a will:-His father, in reply,
This known, had answer'd, 'So, my son,
have I.'

'Do stay a bit;' But Richard's courage was by prudence
taught,

Exclaim'd the Squire, 'these matters hardly fit
A morning ramble-let me show you now
My team of oxen, and my patent plough.
Talk of your horses! I the plan condemn---
They eat us up-but oxen! we eat them;
For first they plough and bring us bread to eat,
And then we fat and kill them-there's the
meat.

What's your opinion ? '—

-I am poorly fed, And much afraid to want both meat and bread,'

Said Rayner, half indignant; and the Squire
Sigh'd, as he felt he must no more require
A man, whose prospects fail'd, his prospects
to admire.

Homeward they moved, and met a gentle
pair,

The poor man's daughter, and the rich man's heir:

And he his nymph in secret service sought.
Some days of absence-not with full consent,
But with slow leave-were to entreaty lent;
And forth the Lover rode, uncertain what he
meant.

He reached the dwelling he had known so
long,

When a pert damsel told him,' he was wrong;
Their house she did not just precisely know,
But he would find it somewhere in the Row ;,
The Rayners now were come a little down,
Nor more the topmost people in the town;'
She might have added, they their life enjoy'd,
Although on things less hazardous employ'd.
This was not much; but yet the damsel's

sneer,

And the Row-dwelling of a lass so dear, Were somewhat startling. He had heard, indeed,

This caused some thought; but on the couple That Rayner's business did not well succeed : 'But what of that? They lived in decent

went,

No doubt, and Phoebe still retain'd her smile; And why,' he asked, 'should all men choose to dwell

as well,

At home the Ladies were engaged, and all Show'd or were shown the wonders of the Hall; In broad cold streets?-the Row does just From room to room the weary guests went on, Till every Rayner wish'd the show was done. Home they return'd: the Father deeply sigh'd

To find he vainly had for aid applied:

Quiet and snug;' and then the favourite
maid

Rose in his fancy, tastefully array'd,
Looking with grateful joy upon the swain,

It hurt him much to ask-and more to be Who could his love in trying times retain. denied.

The younger Richard, who alone sustain'd
The dying Friendship, true to Love remain'd:
His Phoebe's smiles, although he did not yet
Fly to behold, he could not long forget;
Noi durst he visit, nor was love so strong,
That he could more than think his Father
wrong;

For, wrong or right, that father still profess'd
The most obedient son should fare the best.
So time pass'd on; the second spring
appear'd,

Ere Richard ventured on the deed he fear'd :--
He dared at length; and not so much for
love,

Soothed by such thoughts, to the new house

he came,

Surveyed its aspect, sigh'd, and gave his

name.

But ere they opened, he had waited long,
And heard a movement-Was there some-
what wrong?

Nay, but a friendly party, he was told;
And look'd around, as wishing to behold
Some friends-but these were not the friends
of old.

Old Peter Rayner, in his own old mode,
Bade the Squire welcome to his new abode,
For Richard had been kind, and doubtless
meant

I grieve to add, but that he meant to prove To make proposals now, and ask consent.

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