The man here paused-then loudly for reform

He call'd, and hail'd the prospect of the storm; The wholesome blast, the fertilizing floodPeace gain'd by tumult, plenty bought with blood:

Sharp means, he own'd; but when the land's disease

Asks cure complete, no med'cines are like these.

Our Justice now, more led by fear than rage, Saw it in vain with madness to engage; With imps of darkness no man seeks to fight, Knaves to instruct, or set deceivers right: Then as the daring speech denounced these

woes,

Sick at the soul, the grieving guest arose; Quick on the board his ready cash he threw, And from the daemons to his closet flew : There when secured, he pray'd with earnest zeal,

Still it occurr'd that, in a luckless time,
He fail'd to fight with heresy and crime;
It was observed his words were not so strong,
His tones so powerful, his harangues so long,
As in old times-for he would often drop
The lofty look, and of a sudden stop;
When conscience whisper'd, that he once was
still,

And let the wicked triumph at their will;
And therefore now, when not a foe was near,
He had no right so valiant to appear.

Some years had pass'd, and he perceived his fears

Yield to the spirit of his earlier years-
When at a meeting, with his friends beside,
He saw an object that awaked his pride;
His shame, wrath, vengeance, indignation-
all

feel;

now abhorr'd ;

Again he gazed-' It is,' said he,' the same; Caught and secure his master owes him

shame : >

So thought our hero, who each instant found
His courage rising, from the numbers round.
As when a felon has escaped and fled,
So long, that law conceives the culprit dead
And back recall'd her myrmidons, intent
On some new game, and with a stronger scent;
Till she beholds him in a place, where none
Could have conceived the culprit would have
gone;

There he sits upright in his seat, secure,
As one whose conscience is correct and pure;
This rouses anger for the old offence,
And scorn for all such seeming and pretence;
So on this Hammond look'd our hero bold,
Rememb'ring well that vile offence of old;
And now he saw the rebel dared t' intrude
Among the pure, the loyal, and the good;
The crime provoked his wrath, the folly
stirr'd his blood:

Nor wonder was it if so strange a sight Caused joy with vengeance, terror with delight:

Terror like this a tiger might create,
A joy like that to see his captive state,
At once to know his force and then decree
his fate.

Hammond, much praised by numerous
friends, was come

To read his lectures, so admired at home;
Historic lectures, where he loved to mix
His free plain hints on modern politics :
Here, he had heard, that numbers had design,
Their business finish'd, to sit down and dine;
This gave him pleasure, for he judged it right
To show by day, that he could speak at night.
Rash the design-for he perceived, too late,
Not one approving friend beside him sate;'
The greater number, whom he traced around,
Were men in black, and he conceived they
frown'd.

'I will not speak,' he thought; 'no pearls of mine

Shall be presented to this herd of swine;'
Not this avail'd him, when he cast his eye
On Justice Bolt; he could not fight, nor fly:
He saw a man to whom he gave the pain,
Which now he felt must be return'd again;
His conscience told him with what keen
delight

He, at that time, enjoy'd a stranger's fright;
That stranger now befriended-he alone,
For all his insult, friendless, to atone ;
Now he could feel it cruel that a heart
Should be distress'd, and none to take its part;
'Though one by one,' said Pride, 'I would defy
Much greater men, yet meeting every eye,
I do confess a fear-but he will pass me by.'
Vain hope! the Justice saw the foe's
distress,

With exultation he could not suppress;
He felt the fish was hook'd-and so forbore,
In playful spite, to draw it to the shore.
Hammond look'd round again; but none
were near,

With friendly smile, to still his growing fear;
But all above him seem'd a solemn row

Of priests and deacons, so they seem❜d below; He wonder'd who his right-hand man might be

Vicar of Holt cum Uppingham was he; And who the man of that dark frown possess'd

Rector of Bradley and of Barton-west; 'A pluralist,' he growl'd-but check'd the word,

That warfare might not, by his zeal, be stirr'd. But now began the man above to show Fierce looks and threat'nings to the man below:

Who had some thoughts his peace by flight to seek

But how then lecture, if he dared not speak!-
Now as the Justice for the war prepared,
He seem'd just then to question if he dared;
He may resist, although his power be small,
And growing desperate may defy us all;
One dog attack, and he prepares for flight-
Resist another, and he strives to bite;
Nor can I say, if this rebellious cur
Will fly for safety, or will scorn to stir.'
Alarm'd by this, he lash'd his soul to rage,
Burn'd with strong shame, and hurried to

engage.

As a male turkey straggling on the green, When by fierce harriers, terriers, mongrels seen,

He feels the insult of the noisy train,

And skulks aside, though moved by much disdain ;

But when that turkey, at his own barn-door,
Sees one poor straying puppy and no more,
(A foolish puppy who had left the pack,
Thoughtless what foe was threat'ning at his
back,)

He moves about, as ship prepared to sail,
He hoists his proud rotundity of tail,
The half-seal'd eyes and changeful neck he
shows,

Where, in its quick'ning colours, vengeance glows;

From red to blue the pendant wattles turn, Blue mix'd with red, as matches when they

burn;

And thus th' intruding snarler to oppose, Urged by enkindling wrath, he gobbling goes.

So look'd our hero in his wrath, his cheeks Flush'd with fresh fires and glow'd in tingling streaks;

His breath by passion's force awhile restrain'd, Like a stopp'd current, greater force regain'd; So spoke, so look'd he, every eye and ear Were fix'd to view him, or were turn'd to hear. 'My friends, you know me, you can witness

all,

How, urged by passion, I restrain my gall; And every motive to revenge withstand— Save when I hear abused my native land.

'Is it not known, agreed, confirm'd, confess'd, That of all people, we are govern'd best? We have the force of monarchies; are free, As the most proud republicans can be ;

Punctual again the modest rap declared
The youth attended; then was all prepared:
For the same servant, by his lord's command,
A paper offer'd to his trembling hand :
No more!' he cried; disdains he to afford
One kind expression, one consoling word?'
With troubled spirit he began to read
That In the church my lord could not
succeed; '

Who had to peers of either kind applied,
And was with dignity and grace denied ;
While his own livings were by men possess'd,
Not likely in their chancels yet to rest;
And therefore, all things weigh'd (as he, my
lord,

Had done maturely, and he pledged his word),

Wisdom it seem'd for John to turn his view
To busier scenes, and bid the church adieu!'
Here grieved the youth; he felt his father's
pride

Must with his own be shock'd and mortified;
But when he found his future comforts placed
Where he, alas! conceived himself disgraced
In some appointment on the London quays,
He bade farewell to honour and to ease;
His spirit fell, and, from that hour assured
How vain his dreams, he suffer'd and was
cured.

Our poet hurried on, with wish to fly
From all mankind, to be conceal'd, and die.
Alas! what hopes, what high romantic views
Did that one visit to the soul infuse,
Which cherish'd with such love, 'twas worse
than death to lose!

Still he would strive, though painful was the strife,

To walk in this appointed road of life;
On these low duties duteous he would wait,
And patient bear the anguish of his fate.
Thanks to the patron, but of coldest kind,
Express'd the sadness of the poet's mind;
Whose heavy hours were pass'd with busy
men,

In the dull practice of th' official pen;
Who to superiors must in time impart
(The custom this) his progress in their art:
But so had grief on his perception wrought,
That all unheeded were the duties taught;
No answers gave he when his trial came,
Silent he stood, but suffering without shame;
And they observed that words severe or kind
Made no impression on his wounded mind;

For all perceived from whence his failure rose, Some grief whose cause he deign'd not to disclose.

A soul averse from scenes and works so new,
Fear ever shrinking from the vulgar crew;
Distaste for each mechanic law and rule,
Thoughts of past honour and a patron cool;
A grieving parent, and a feeling mind,
Timid and ardent, tender and refined:
These all with mighty force the youth assail'd,
Till his soul fainted, and his reason fail'd:
When this was known, and some debate arose
How they who saw it should the fact disclose,
He found their purpose, and in terror fled
From unseen kindness, with mistaken dread.
Meantime the parent was distress'd to find
His son no longer for a priest design'd;
But still he gain'd some comfort by the news
Of John's promotion, though with humbler
views :

For he conceived that in no distant time The boy would learn to scramble and to climb;

He little thought a son, his hope and pride, His favour'd boy, was now a home denied : Yes! while the parent was intent to trace How men in office climb from place to place, By day, by night, o'er moor and heath and hill,

Roved the sad youth, with ever-changing will, Of every aid bereft, exposed to every ill.

Thus as he sate, absorb'd in all the care And all the hope that anxious fathers share, A friend abruptly to his presence brought, With trembling hand, the subject of his thought;

Whom he had found afflicted and subdued By hunger, sorrow, cold, and solitude.

Silent he enter'd the forgotten room, As ghostly forms may be conceived to come; With sorrow-shrunken face and hair upright, He look'd dismay, neglect, despair, affright; But, dead to comfort, and on misery thrown, His parent's loss he felt not, nor his own.

The good man, struck with horror, cried

have loved,

father

Cymbeline, Act i, Scene 3. O, grief hath changed mesince yousaw me last, And careful hours with Time's deformed hand Have written strange defeatures in my face. Comedy of Errors, Act v, Scene 1. Oh! if thou be'st the same Aegeon, speak, And speak unto the same Aemilia.

Comedy of Errors, Act v, Scene 1. I ran it through, ev'n from my boyish days To the very moment that he bade me tell it, Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents, by flood, and field; .. Of being taken by the insolent foe And sold to slavery.

Othello, Act i, Scene 3. An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye; Give him a little earth for charity.

Henry VIII, Activ, Scene 2.

MINUTELY trace man's life; year after year, Through all his days let all his deeds appear, And then, though some may in that life be strange,

Yet there appears no vast nor sudden change: The links that bind those various deeds are seen,

And no mysterious void is left between.

But let these binding links be all destroy'd, All that through years he suffer'd or enjoy'd; Let that vast gap be made, and then beholdThis was the youth, and he is thus when old; Then we at once the work of Time survey, And in an instant see a life's decay; Pain mix'd with pity in our bosoms rise, And sorrow takes new sadness from surprise. Beneath yon tree, observe an ancient pairA sleeping man; a woman in her chair, Watching his looks with kind and pensive air; No wife, nor sister she, nor is the name Nor kindred of this friendly pair the same; Yet so allied are they, that few can feel Her constant, warm, unwearied, anxious zeal;

Keep their good name and conduct unreproved;

Thus life's small comforts they together share, And while life lingers for the grave prepare. No other subjects on their spirits press, Nor gain such int'rest as the past distress Grievous events that from the mem'ry drive Life's common cares, and those alone survive, Mix with each thought, in every action share, Darken each dream, and blend with every prayer.

To David Booth, his fourth and last-born

boy,

Allen his name, was more than common joy; And as the child grew up, there seem'd in him

A more than common life in every limb;
A strong and handsome stripling he became,
And the gay spirit answer'd to the frame;
A lighter, happier lad was never seen,
For ever easy, cheerful, or serene;
His early love he fix'd upon a fair
And gentle maid-they were a handsome pair.

They at an infant-school together play'd,
Where the foundation of their love was laid;
The boyish champion would his choice attend
In every sport, in every fray defend.
As prospects open'd and as life advanced,
They walk'd together, they together danced;
On all occasions, from their early years,
They mix'd their joys and sorrows, hopes and

fears;

Each heart was anxious, till it could impart
Its daily feelings to its kindred heart;
As years increased, unnumber'd petty wars
Broke out between them; jealousies and jars ;
Causeless indeed, and follow'd by a peace,
That gave to love-growth, vigour, and
increase.

Whilst yet a boy, when other minds are void, Domestic thoughts young Allen's hours employ'd ;

Judith in gaining hearts had no concern, Rather intent the matron's part to learn; Thus early prudent and sedate they grew, While lovers, thoughtful-and though children, true.

Still should the father hear that I regret
Our joint misfortune-Yes! I'll not forget.
Thus they :-The father to his grave con-
vey'd

The son he loved, and his last duties paid.
'There lies my boy,' he cried, of care
bereft,

And, Heav'n be praised, I've not a genius left:

No one among ye, sons! is doom'd to live On high-raised hopes of what the great may give;

None, with exalted views and fortunes mean,
To die in anguish, or to live in spleen :
Your pious brother soon escaped the strife
Of such contention, but it cost his life;
You then, my sons, upon yourselves depend,
And in your own exertions find the friend.'

TALE VI.

THE

Yes, faith, it is my cousin's duty to make | curtsy, and say, Father, as it please you'; but yet for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make another curtsy, and say, Father, as it please me.'

Much Ado about Nothing, Act ii, Scene 1.

truth.

He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain-he must speak King Lear, Act ii, Scene 2. God hath given you one face, and you make yourselves another; you jig, you amble, and you lisp and you nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance.

Hamlet, Act iii, Scene 1. What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true? Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much?

Much Ado about Nothing, Act iii, Scene 1. GRAVE Jonas Kindred, Sybil Kindred's sire, Was six feet high, and look'd six inches higher; Erect, morose, determined, solemn, slow, Who knew the man, could never cease to know;

His faithful spouse, when Jonas was not by,
Had a firm presence and a steady eye;
But with her husband dropp'd her look and
tone,

And Jonas ruled unquestion'd and alone.

He read, and oft would quote the sacred words,

How pious husbands of their wives were lords;

Sarah called Abraham lord! and who could be,

So Jonas thought, a greater man than he? Himself he view'd with undisguised respect, And never pardon'd freedom or neglect.

They had one daughter, and this favourite child

Had oft the father of his spleen beguiled;
Soothed by attention from her early years,
But Sybil then was in that playful time,
She gain'd all wishes by her smiles or tears:

When contradiction is not held a crime;
When parents yield their children idle praise
For faults corrected in their after days.

Peace in the sober house of Jonas dwelt, Where each his duty and his station felt: Yet not that peace some favour'd mortals find, In equal views and harmony of mind; Not the soft peace that blesses those who love, Where all with one consent in union move; But it was that which one superior will Commands, by making all inferiors still; Who bids all murmurs, all objections cease, And with imperious voice announces-Peace!

They were, to wit, a remnant of that crew, Who, as their foes maintain, their sovereign slew;

Who ever married in the kindred sect:
An independent race, precise, correct,
A friend to England's king who lost his head;
No son or daughter of their order wed
Cromwell was still their saint, and when they

met,

They mourn'd that saints* were not our rulers yet.

Fix'd were their habits; they arose betimes, Then pray'd their hour, and sang their partyrhymes :

The trade of Jonas brought him constant gain; Their meals were plenteous, regular, and plain;

*This appellation is here not used ironically, designate a morosely devout people, with pecunor with malignity; but it is taken merely to liar austerity of manners.