But James refused those angry looks to meet,
Till he dismiss'd his flock, and left his seat:
Exhausted then he felt his trembling frame,
But fix'd his soul-his sentiments the same;
And therefore wise it seem'd to fly from rage,
And seek for shelter in his parsonage :
There, if forsaken, yet consoled to find
Some comforts left, though not a few resign'd;
There, if he lost an erring parent's love,
An honest conscience must the cause approve;
If the nice palate were no longer fed,
The mind enjoy'd delicious thoughts instead;
And if some part of earthly good was flown,
Still was the tithe of ten good farms his own.
Fear now, and discord, in the village reign,
The cool remonstrate, and the meek complain;
But there is war within, and wisdom pleads
in vain :

Now dreads the uncle, and proclaims his dread,

Lest the boy-priest should turn each rustic

head;

The certain converts cost him certain wo, The doubtful fear lest they should join the foe: Matrons of old, with whom he used to joke, Now pass his Honour with a pious look; Lasses, who met him once with lively airs, Now cross his way, and gravely walk to prayers: An old companion, whom he long has loved, By coward fears confess'd his conscience

moved;

As the third bottle gave its spirit forth, And they bore witness to departed worth, The friend arose, and he too would depart :'Man,' said the 'squire,' thou wert not wont to start;

Hast thou attended to that foolish boy, Who would abridge all comforts, or destroy?' Yes, he had listen'd, who had slumber'd long,

And was convinced that something must be wrong:

But, though affected, still his yielding heart, And craving palate, took the uncle's part; Wine now oppress'd him, who, when free

from wine,

The 'squire he honour'd, and, for his poor part,
He hated nothing like a hollow heart:
But 'twas a maxim he had often tried,
That right was right, and there he would
abide;

He honour'd learning, and he would confess
The preacher had his talents-more or less:
Why not agree? he thought the young divine
Had no such strictness-they might drink
and dine;

For them sufficient-but he said before,That truth was truth, and he would drink no more.'

This heard the 'squire with mix'd contempt and pain;

He fear'd the priest this recreant sot would gain.

The favourite nymph, though not a convert made,

Conceived the man she scorn'd her cause would aid;

And when the spirits of her lord were low, The lass presumed the wicked cause to show: 'It was the wretched life his Honour led, And would draw vengeance on his guilty head; Their loves (Heav'n knew how dreadfully distress'd

The thought had made her!) were as yet unbless'd:

And till the church had sanction'd '--Here she saw

The wrath that forced her trembling to withdraw.

Add to these outward ills, some inward

light,

That show'd him all was not correct and right: Though now he less indulged-and to the poor, From day to day, sent alms from door to door; Though he some ease from easy virtues found, Yet conscience told him he could not com

pound;

But must himself the darling sin deny, Change the whole heart-but here a heavy sigh

Proclaim'd, 'How vast the toil! and ah! how weak am I!'

James too has trouble-he divided sees A parish, once harmonious and at ease: With him united are the simply meek, The warm, the sad, the nervous, and the weak;

The rest his uncle's, save the few beside, Who own no doctrine, and obey no guide;

With stragglers of each adverse camp, who lend
Their aid to both, but each in turn offend.
Though zealous still, yet he begins to feel
The heat too fierce, that glows in vulgar zeal;
With pain he hears his simple friends relate
Their week's experience, and their woful state:
With small temptation struggling every hour,
And bravely battling with the tempting power;
His native sense is hurt by strange complaints
Of inward motions in these warring saints;
Who never cast on sinful bait a look
But they perceive the devil at the hook :

Grieved, yet compell'd to smile, he finds it hard

Against the blunders of conceit to guard;
He sighs to hear the jests his converts cause,
He cannot give their erring zeal applause ;
But finds it inconsistent to condemn
The flights and follies he has nursed in them :
These, in opposing minds, contempt produce,
Or mirth occasion, or provoke abuse;
On each momentous theme disgrace they
bring,

And give to Scorn her poison and her sting.

Think'st thou I'd make a life of jealousy,
To follow still the changes of the moon,
With fresh suspicions?
Othello, Act iii, Scene 3.
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy
cheeks,

And given my treasures and my rights of thee
To thick-eyed musing and cursed melancholy?
1 Henry IV, Act ii, Scene 3.
It is excellent
To have a giant's strength, but it is tyrannous
To use it as a giant.

Measure for Measure, Act ii, Scene 2.

ANNA was young and lovely-in her eye
The glance of beauty, in her cheek the dye;
Her shape was slender, and her features small,
But graceful, easy, unaffected all :

The liveliest tints her youthful face disclosed; There beauty sparkled, and there health reposed;

For the pure blood that flush'd that rosy cheek Spoke what the heart forbad the tongue to speak;

And told the feelings of that heart as well, Nay, with more candour than the tongue could tell:

Though this fair lass had with the wealthy dwelt,

Yet like the damsel of the cot she felt;
And, at the distant hint or dark surmise,
The blood into the mantling cheek would rise.
Now Anna's station, frequent terrors
wrought

In one whose looks were with such meaning fraught:

For on a lady, as an humble friend,
It was her painful office to attend.

Her duties here were of the usual kind

And some the body harass'd, some the mind:
Billets she wrote, and tender stories read,
To make the lady sleepy in her bed;
She play'd at whist, but with inferior skill,
And heard the summons as a call to drill;
Music was ever pleasant till she play'd
At a request that no request convey'd ;
The lady's tales with anxious looks she heard,
For she must witness what her friend averr'd;
The lady's taste she must in all approve,
Hate whom she hated, whom she loved must
love;

These with the various duties of her place,
With care she studied, and perform'd with

'Should her Eliza-no! she was too just, Too good and kind-but ah! too young to trust.'

Anna return'd, her former place resumed, And faded beauty with new grace re-bloom'd; And if some whispers of the past were heard, They died innoxious, as no cause appear'd; But other cares on Anna's bosom press'd, She saw her father gloomy and distress'd; He died o'erwhelm'd with debt, and soon was shed

The filial sorrow o'er a mother dead:

She sought Eliza's arms, that faithful friend

was wed;

Then was compassion by the countess shown, And all th' adventures of her life are known.

And now beyond her hopes-no longer tried By slavish awe-she lived a yeoman's bride; Then bless'd her lot, and with a grateful mind Was careful, cheerful, vigilant, and kind: The gentle husband felt supreme delight, Bless'd by her joy, and happy in her sight; He saw with pride in every friend and guest High admiration and regard express'd: With greater pride, and with superior joy, He look'd exulting on his first-born boy; To her fond breast the wife her infant strain'd, Some feelings utter'd, some were not explain'd; And she enraptured with her treasure grew, The sight familiar, but the pleasure new.

Yet there appear'd within that tranquil
state

Some threat'ning prospect of uncertain fate;
Between the married when a secret lies,
It wakes suspicion from enforced disguise:
Still thought the wife upon her absent friend,
With all that must upon her truth depend;
'There is no being in the world beside,

Who can discover what that friend will hide; Who knew the fact, knew not my name or state,

Who these can tell cannot the fact relate; But thou, Eliza, canst the whole impart, And all my safety is thy generous heart.' Mix'd with these fears-but light and

transient these

Fled years of peace, prosperity, and ease; So tranquil all that scarce a gloomy day For days of gloom unmix'd prepared the way: One eve, the wife, still happy in her state, Sang gaily, thoughtless of approaching fate; Then came a letter, that (received in dread Not unobserved) she in confusion read;

The substance this- Her friend rejoiced to find

That she had riches with a grateful mind; While poor Eliza had from place to place Been lured by hope to labour for disgrace; That every scheme her wandering husband tried,

Pain'd while he lived, and perish'd when he died.'

She then of want in angry style complain'd, Her child a burthen to her life remain'd, Her kindred shunn'd her prayers, no friend her soul sustain'd.

'Yet why neglected? Dearest Anna knew Her worth once tried, her friendship ever true; She hoped, she trusted, though by wants oppress'd,

To lock the treasured secret in her breast;
Yet, vex'd by trouble, must apply to one,
For kindness due to her for kindness done.'
In Anna's mind was tumult, in her face
Flushings of dread had momentary place:
'I must,' she judged, 'these cruel lines expose,
Or fears, or worse than fears, my crime
disclose.'

The letter shown, he said, with sober smileAnna, your friend has not a friendly style: Say, where could you with this fair lady dwell, Who boasts of secrets that she scorns to tell? 'At school,' she answer'd: heat school! ' replied;

Nay, then I know the secrets you would hide: Some longings these, without dispute, Some youthful gaspings for forbidden fruit: Why so disorder'd, love? are such the crimes, That give us sorrow in our graver times? Come, take a present for your friend, and rest In perfect peace-you find you are confess'd.' This cloud, though past, alarm'd the con

scious wife,

Presaging gloom and sorrow for her life;
Who to her answer join'd a fervent prayer,
That her Eliza would a sister spare:
If she again-but was there cause?-should
send,

Let her direct-and then she named a friend :
A sad expedient untried friends to trust,
And still to fear the tried may be unjust:
Such is his pain, who, by his debt oppress'd,
Seeks by new bonds a temporary rest.

Few were her peaceful days till Anna read The words she dreaded, and had cause to dread :

'Did she believe, did she, unkind, suppose That thus Eliza's friendship was to close? No! though she tried, and her desire was plain,

To break the friendly bond, she strove in vain:
Ask'd she for silence? why so loud the call,
And yet the token of her love so small?
By means like these will you attempt to bind
And check the movements of an injured mind?
Poor as I am, I shall be proud to show
What dangerous secrets I may safely know:
Secrets to men of jealous minds convey'd,
Have many a noble house in ruins laid :
Anna, I trust, although with wrongs beset,
And urged by want, I shall be faithful yet;
But what temptation may from these arise,
To take a slighted woman by surprise,
Becomes a subject for your serious care-
For who offends, must for offence prepare.'
Perplex'd, dismay'd, the wife foresaw her
doom;

A day deferr'd was yet a day to come;
But still, though painful her suspended state,
She dreaded more the crisis of her fate;
Better to die than Stafford's scorn to meet,
And her strange friend perhaps would be
discreet:

Presents she sent, and made a strong appeal
To woman's feelings, begging her to feel;
With too much force she wrote of jealous men,
And her tears falling spoke beyond the pen;
Eliza's silence she again implored,

And promised all that prudence could afford.
For looks composed and careless Anna tried;
She seem'd in trouble, and unconscious sigh'd:
The faithful husband, who devoutly loved
His silent partner, with concern reproved :
'What secret sorrows on my Anna press,
That love may not partake, nor care redress?'
None, none,' she answer'd, with a look so
kind,

That the fond man determined to be blind.
A few succeeding weeks of brief repose
In Anna's cheek revived the faded rose;
A hue like this the western sky displays,
That glows awhile, and withers as we gaze.
Again the friend's tormenting letter came-
The wants she suffer'd were affection's
shame;

She with her child a life of terrors led,
Unhappy fruit! but of a lawful bed:
Her friend was tasting every bliss in life,
The joyful mother, and the wealthy wife;

While she was placed in doubt,in fear,in want,
To starve on trifles that the happy grant;
Poorly for all her faithful silence paid,
And tantalized by ineffectual aid:
She could not thus a beggar's lot endure ;
She wanted something permanent and sure:
If they were friends, then equal be their lot,
And she was free to speak if they were not."

Despair and terror seized the wife, to find The artful workings of a vulgar mind: Money she had not, but the hint of dress Taught her new bribes, new terrors to redress: She with such feeling then described her woes, That envy's self might on the view repose; Then to a mother's pains she made appeal, And painted grief like one compell'd to feel.

Yes! so she felt, that in her air, her face, In every purpose, and in every place; In her slow motion, in her languid mien, The grief, the sickness of her soul were seen

Of some mysterious ill the husband sure, Desired to trace it, for he hoped to cure; Something he knew obscurely, and had seen His wife attend a cottage on the green; Love, loth to wound, endured conjecture long, Till fear would speak, and spoke in language strong.

'All I must know, my Anna-truly know Whence these emotions, terrors, troubles flow; Give me thy grief, and I will fairly prove Mine is no selfish, no ungenerous love.'

Now Anna's soul the seat of strife became, Fear with respect contended, love with shame; But fear prevailing was the ruling guide, Prescribing what to show and what to hide.

It is my friend,' she said—but why

disclose

A woman's weakness struggling with her woes? Yes, she has grieved me by her fond complaints,

The wrongs she suffers, the distress she paints:
Something we do-but she afflicts me still,
And says, with power to help, I want the will;
This plaintive style I pity and excuse,
Help when I can, and grieve when I refuse
But here my useless sorrows I resign,
And will be happy in a love like thine.'

The husband doubted; he was kind but

cool:

'Tis a strong friendship to arise at school; Once more then, love, once more the sufferer

aid,

I too can pity, but I must upbraid;