Retiring late, at early hour to rise,

With shrunken features, and with bloodshot eyes:

If sleep one moment closed the dismal view,
Fancy her terrors built upon the true;
And night and day had their alternate
woes,

That baffled pleasure, and that mock'd repose;

Till to despair and anguish was consign'd
The wreck and ruin of a noble mind.

Now seized for debt, and lodged within a jail, He tried his friendships, and he found them fail;

The spirit settled, but the reason drown'd;
And all the dreadful tempest died away,
To the dull stillness of the misty day.

all

Fix'd on his sins, his sufferings, and his fall:
His ruffled mind was pictured in his face,
Once the fair seat of dignity and grace:
Great was the danger of a man so prone
To think of madness, and to think alone;
Yet pride still lived, and struggled to sustain
The drooping spirit and the roving brain;
But this too fail'd: a friend his freedom
gave,

And sent him help the threat'ning world to

brave;

Gave solid counsel what to seek or flee,
But still would stranger to his person be:
In vain! the truth determined to explore,
He traced the friend whom he had wrong'd
before.

This was too much; both aided and advised By one who shunn'd him, pitied, and despised;

He bore it not; 'twas a deciding stroke,
And on his reason like a torrent broke:
In dreadful stillness he appear'd awhile,
With vacant horror and a ghastly smile;
Then rose at once into the frantic rage,
That force controll'd not, nor could love
assuage.

Friends now appear'd, but in the man was

seen

The angry maniac, with vindictive mien;
Too late their pity gave to care and skill
The hurried mind and ever-wandering will;
Unnoticed pass'd all time, and not a ray
Of reason broke on his benighted way;
But now he spurn'd the straw in pure disdain,
And now laughed loudly at the clinking chain.
Then as its wrath subsided, by degrees
The mind sank slowly to infantine ease;

Is now with mild religious pity moved;
Kindly she chides his boyish flights, while he
Will for a moment fix'd and pensive be;
And as she trembling speaks, his lively eyes
Explore her looks, he listens to her sighs;
Charm'd by her voice, th' harmonious sounds
invade

His clouded mind, and for a time persuade :
Like a pleased infant, who has newly caught
From the maternal glance a gleam of thought,
He stands enrapt, the half-known voice to
hear,

And starts, half-conscious, at the falling tear. Rarely from town, nor then unwatch'd, he

Such smiling rogues as these,
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords a-twain,
Which are too intrinse t' unloose-

King Lear, Act ii, Scene 2.
My other self, my counsel's consistory,
My oracle, my prophet,
I as a child will go by thy direction.

Richard III, Act ii, Scene 2. If I do not take pity of her, I am a villain; if I do not love her, I am a Jew.

Much Ado about Nothing, Act ii, Scene 3. Women are soft, mild, pitiful and flexible; Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorse

less.

'SQUIRE THOMAS flatter'd long a wealthy aunt,
Who left him all that she could give or grant:
Ten years he tried, with all his craft and skill,
To fix the sovereign lady's varying will;
Ten years enduring at her board to sit,
He meekly listen'd to her tales and wit;
He took the meanest office man can take,
And his aunt's vices for her money's sake:
By many a threat'ning hint she waked his
fear,

And he was pain'd to see a rival near;
Yet all the taunts of her contemptuous pride
He bore, nor found his grov'ling spirit tried:
Nay, when she wish'd his parents to traduce,
Fawning he smiled, and justice call'd
th' abuse;

There was a female, who had courted long Her cousin's gifts, and deeply felt the wrong; By a vain boy forbidden to attend The private counsels of her wealthy friend, She vow'd revenge, nor should that crafty boy In triumph undisturb'd his spoils enjoy ; He heard, he smiled, and when the will was read, Kindly dismiss'd the kindred of the dead; The dear deceased,' he call'd her, and the crowd

Moved off with curses deep and threat'nings loud.

The youth retired, and, with a mind at ease, Found he was rich, and fancied he must He might have pleased, and to his comfort please :

found

Nay, tyrant brothers claim a right to reign;
Uncles and guardians we in turn obey,
And husbands rule with ever-during sway;
Short is the time when lovers at the feet
Of beauty kneel, and own the slavery sweet;
And shall we this our triumph, this the aim
And boast of female power, forbear to claim?
No! we demand that homage, that respect,
Or the proud rebel punish and reject.'

Our hero, still too indolent, too nice
To pay for beauty the accustom'd price,
No less forbore t' address the humbler maid,
Who might have yielded with the price unpaid;

But lived, himself to humour and to please, To count his money, and enjoy his ease.

It pleased a neighbouring 'squire to recommend

A faithful youth, as servant to his friend; Nay, more than servant, whom he praised for parts

Ductile yet strong, and for the best of hearts;
One who might ease him in his small affairs,
With tenants, tradesmen, taxes, and repairs;
Answer his letters, look to all his dues,
And entertain him with discourse and news.
The 'squire believed, and found the trusted
youth

A very pattern for his care and truth;
Not for his virtues to be praised alone,
But for a modest mien and humble tone;
Assenting always, but as if he meant
Only to strength of reasons to assent:
For was he stubborn, and retain'd his doubt,
Till the more subtle 'squire had forced it out;
Nay, still was right, but he perceived that
strong

And powerful minds could make the right the wrong.'

When the 'squire's thoughts on some fair damsel dwelt,

The faithful friend his apprehensions felt; It would rejoice his faithful heart to find A lady suited to his master's mind;

The place was distant, but with great delight They saw a race, and hail'd the glorious sight: The 'squire exulted, and declared the ride Had amply paid, and he was satisfied. They gazed, they feasted, and, in happy mood, Homeward return'd, and hastening as they rode;

For short the day, and sudden was the change From light to darkness, and the way was strange;

Our hero soon grew peevish, then distress'd;
He dreaded darkness, and he sigh'd for rest:
Going, they pass'd a village; but, alas!
Returning saw no village to repass;
The 'squire remember'd too a noble hall,
Large as a church, and whiter than its wall:
This he had noticed as they rode along,
And justly reason'd that their road was wrong.
George, full of awe, was modest in reply-
"The fault was his, 'twas folly to deny ;
And of his master's safety were he sure,
There was no grievance he would not endure.'
This made his peace with the relenting 'squire,
Whose thoughts yet dwelt on supper and
a fire;

When, as they reach'd a long and pleasant green,

Dwellings of men, and next a man, were seen. 'My friend,' said George, to travellers astray

prove

That hers was pure, uninterested love? Although a servant, he would scorn to take A countess, till she suffer'd for his sake; Some tender spirit, humble, faithful, true, Such, my dear master! must be sought for you. Six months had pass'd, and not a lady seen, With just this love, 'twixt fifty and fifteen; All seem'd his doctrine or his pride to shun, All would be woo'd before they would be won; When the chance naming of a race and fair, Our 'squire disposed to take his pleasure there: The friend profess'd, although he first began To hint the thing, it seem'd a thoughtless plan: The roads, he fear'd, were foul, the days were short,

The village far, and yet there might be sport.' 'What! you of roads and starless nights afraid?

You think to govern! you to be obey'd!' Smiling he spoke, the humble friend declared His soul's obedience, and to go prepared.

The man look'd up; 'Surprising! can it be My master's son ? as I'm alive, 'tis he.' How! Robin,' George replied, and are

we near

My father's house? how strangely things appear!

Dear sir, though wanderers, we at last are right:

Let us proceed, and glad my father's sight;
We shall at least be fairly lodged and fed,
I can ensure a supper and a bed ;
Let us this night, as one of pleasure date,
And of surprise: it is an act of fate.'

Go on,' the 'squire in happy temper cried
I like such blunder! I approve such guide.'
They ride, they halt, the farmer comes in

haste,

Then tells his wife how much their house is graced;

They bless the chance, they praise the lucky

son,

That caused the error-Nay! it was not one;

He heard the jack turn round; the busy dame Produced her damask; and with supper came The daughter, dress'd with care, and full of maiden-shame.

Surprised, our hero saw the air and dress, And strove his admiration to express ; Nay! felt it too-for Harriot was, in truth, A tall fair beauty in the bloom of youth; And from the pleasure and surprise, a grace Adorn'd the blooming damsel's form and face; Then too, such high respect and duty paid By all-such silent reverence in the maid; Vent'ring with caution, yet with haste, a glance;

Loth to retire, yet trembling to advance, Appear'd the nymph, and in her gentle guest Stirr'd soft emotions till the hour of rest: Sweet was his sleep, and in the morn again He felt a mixture of delight and pain: 'How fair, how gentle,' said the 'squire, 'how meek,

And yet how sprightly, when disposed to speak!

mind,

Had she but fortune, 'doubtless then,' he cried, Some happier man had won the wealthy bride.'

While thus he hung in balance, now inclined To change his state, and then to change his mind

That careless George dropp'd idly on the ground

A letter, which his crafty master found; The stupid youth confess'd his fault, and pray'd

The generous 'squire to spare a gentle maid;
Of whom her tender mother, full of fears,
Had written much-She caught her oft in
tears,

For ever thinking on a youth above
Her humble fortune-still she own'd not love;
Nor can define, dear girl! the cherish'd pain,
But would rejoice to see the cause again :
That neighbouring youth, whom she endured
before,

She now rejects, and will behold no more:
Raised by her passion, she no longer stoops
To her own equals, but she pines and droops,
Like to a lily, on whose sweets the sun
Has withering gazed-she saw and was un-
done:

But in her favours Fortune is unkind;
Poor is the maid-nay, poor she cannot prove
Who is enrich'd with beauty, worth, and love.'
The 'squire arose, with no precise intent
To go or stay-uncertain what he meant :
He moved to part-they begg'd him first to
dine;

'Fault!' said the 'squire,' there 's coarseness in the mind

friend,

And seem'd to watch him with a two-fold

care:

On the third morn, resolving not to stay,
Though urged by love, he bravely rode away.
Arrived at home, three pensive days he gave
To feelings fond and meditations grave;
Lovely she was, and, if he did not err,
As fond of him as his fond heart of her;
Still he delay'd, unable to decide

Which was the master-passion, love or pride:
He sometimes wonder'd how his friend could

make,

And then exulted in, the night's mistake;

have end.'

The way is plain before us-there is now The lover's visit first, and then the vow Mutual and fond, the marriage-rite, the bride Brought to her home with all a husband's

pride;

The 'squire receives the prize his merits won, And the glad parents leave the patron-son. But in short time he saw with much sur

prise,

First gloom, then grief, and then resentment rise,

From proud, commanding frowns and angerdarting eyes: