Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee.
Thy days roll on, exempt from household care;
Thy waggon is thy wife; and the poor beafts,
That drag the dull companion to and fro,
Thine helpless charge, dependent on thy care.
Ab, treat them kindly! rude as thou appear's,
Yet fhow that thou haft mercy! which the great,
With needlefs hurry whirl'd from place to place,
Humane as they would feem, not always fhow.
Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat; Such claim compaffion in a night like this, And have a friend in ev'ry feeling heart. Warm'd, while it lafts, by labour, all day long They brave the season, and yet find at eve, Ill clad and fed but sparely, time to cool. The frugal housewife trembles when the lights Her fcanty stock of brush-wood, blazing clear, But dying foon, like all terrestrial joys. The few finall embers left fhe nurfes well; And, while her infant race, with outspread hands And crowded knees, fit cow'ring o'er the sparks, Retires, content to quake, fo they be warm'd.. The man feels leaft, as more inur'd than fhe
To winter, and the current in his veins
More brifkly mov'd by his feverer toil;
Yet he, too, finds his own distress in their's.
The taper foon extinguish'd, which I faw
Dangled along at the cold finger's end
Juft when the day declin'd, and the brown loaf
Lodg'd on the fhelf, half eaten, without fauce
Of fav'ry cheese, or butter, costlier ftill;
Sleep feems their only refuge: for, alas,
Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd,
And fweet colloquial pleasures are but few!
With all this thrift they thrive not. All the care
Ingenious parfimony takes but juft
Saves the small inventory, bed, and ftool,
Skillet, and old carv'd cheft, from public fale.
They live, and live without extorted alms
From grudging hands; but other boast have none
To footh their honeft pride, that scorns to beg,
Nor comfort elfe, but in their mutual love.
I praise you much, ye meek and patient pair,
For ye are worthy; choofing rather far
A dry but independent cruft, hard earn'd,
And eaten with a figh, than to endure
The rugged frowns and infolent rebuffs
Of knaves in office, partial in the work
Of diftribution; lib'ral of their aid
To clam'rous importunity in rags,
But oft-times deaf to fuppliants, who would blush
To wear a tatter'd garb however coarfe,
Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth:
These ask with painful thynefs, and, refus'd
Because deserving, filently retire!
But be ye of good courage! Time itself
Shall much befriend you. Time fhall give increase;
And all your num'rous progeny, well-train'd,
But helpless, in few years shall find their hands,
And labour too. Meanwhile ye shall not want
What, conscious of your virtues, we can spare,
Nor what a wealthier than ourselves may fend.
I mean the man, who, when the distant poor
Need help, denies them nothing but his name.
But poverty, with most who whimper forth
Their long complaints, is felf-inflicted woe;
Th' effect of lazinefs or fottish wafte.
Now goes the nightly thief prowling abroad
For plunder; much folicitous how best
He may compensate for a day of floth
By works of darkness and nocturnal wrong.
Woe to the gard'ner's pale, the farmer's hedge, Plash'd neatly, and fecur'd with driven stakes
Deep in the loamy bank.
Refiftless in fo bad a cause, but lame
To better deeds, he bundles up the spoil-
An afs's burden—and, when laden most
And heaviest, light of foot, fteals fast away.
Nor does the boarded hovel better guard
The well-ftack'd pile of riven logs and roots
From his pernicious force. Nor will he leave
Unwrench'd the door, however well secur'd,
Where Chanticleer amidst his haram sleeps
In unfufpecting pomp. Twitch'd from the perch,
He gives the princely bird, with all his wives,
To his voracious bag, ftruggling in vain,
And loudly wond'ring at the fudden change.-
Nor this to feed his own! "Twere fome excuse
Did pity of their fuff'rings warp afide
His principle, and tempt him into fin
For their fupport, fo deftitute.-But they
Neglected pine at home; themselves, as more
Expos'd than others, with less fcruple made
His victims, robb'd of their defenceless all.
Cruel is all he does. 'Tis quenchless thirst
Of ruinous ebriety that prompts
His ev'ry action, and imbrutes the man.
Oh for a law to noose the villain's neck
Who starves his own; who perfecutes the blood He gave them in his children's veins, and hates And wrongs the woman he has fworn to love!
Pafs where wemay, through city or through town,
Village, or hamlet, of this merry land,
Though lean and beggar'd, ev'ry twentieth pace
Conducts th' unguarded nose to such a whiff
Of ftale debauch, forth-iffuing from the ftyes
That law has licens'd, as makes temp'rance reel.
There fit, involv'd and loft in curling clouds
Of Indian fume, and guzzling deep, the boor,
The lackey, and the groom: the craftsman there
Takes a Lethean leave of all his toil;
Smith, cobbler, joiner, he that plies the fhears,
And he that kneads the dough; all loud alike,
All learned, and all drunk! The fiddle fcreams
Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and wail'd
Its wafted tones and harmony unheard:
Fierce the difpute, whate'er the theme; while fhe,
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