THE PARISH REGISTER. IN THREE PARTS.

THE PARISH REGISTER . IN THREE PARTS .

PART I.

The Village Register considered , as containing principally the Annals of the Poor — State of the Peasantry as meliorated by Frugality and Industry — The Cottage of an industrious Peasant ; its Ornaments — Prints and Books — The Garden ; its Satisfactions — The State of the Poor , when improvident and vicious — The Row or Street , and its Inhabitants — The Dwellings of one of these — A Public House — Garden and its Appendages — Gamesters ; rustic Sharpers , &c. — Conclusion of the Introductory Part .

The Child of the Miller's Daughter , and Relation of her Misfortune — A frugal Couple : their Kind of Frugality — Plea of the Mother of a natural Child : her Churching — Large Family of Gerard Ablett : his Apprehensions : Comparison between his State and that of the wealthy Farmer his Master : his Consolation — An old Man's Anxiety for an Heir : the Jealousy of another on having many — Characters of the Grocer Dawkins and his Friend ; their different Kinds of Disappointment — Three Infants named — An Orphan Girl and Village Schoolmistress — Gardener's Child : Pedantry and Conceit of the Father : his Botanical Discourse : Method of fixing the Embryo-fruit of Cucumbers — Absurd Effects of Rustic Vanity : observed in the Names of their Children — Relation of the Vestry Debate on a Foundling : Sir Richard Monday — Children of various Inhabitants — The poor Farmer — Children of a Profligate : his Character and Fate — Conclusion .

Tum porro puer ( ut sævis projectus ab undis , Navita ) nudus humi jacet infans indigus omni Vitali auxilio , — Vagituque locum lugubri complet , ut æquum est , Cui tantum in vitâ restat transire malorum . Lucret. de Nat. Rerum , lib. 5. ( 2 ) The year revolves , and I again explore The simple Annals of my Parish poor ; What Infant-members in my flock appear , What Pairs I bless'd in the departed year ; And who , of Old or Young , or Nymphs or Swains , Are lost to Life , its pleasures and its pains . No Muse I ask , before my view to bring The humble actions of the swains I sing . — How pass'd the youthful , how the old their days ; Who sank in sloth , and who aspired to praise ; Their tempers , manners , morals , customs , arts , What parts they had , and how they ' mploy'd their parts ; By what elated , soothed , seduced , depress'd , Full well I know — these Records give the rest . Is there a place , save one the poet sees , A land of love , of liberty and ease ; Where labour wearies not , nor cares suppress Th' eternal flow of rustic happiness ; Where no proud mansion frowns in awful state , Or keeps the sunshine from the cottage-gate ; Where young and old , intent on pleasure , throng , And half man's life is holiday and song ? Vain search for scenes like these ! no view appears , By sighs unruffled or unstain'd by tears ; Since vice the world subdued and waters drown'd , Auburn and Eden can no more be found . Hence good and evil mix'd , but man has skill And power to part them , when he feels the will ! Toil , care , and patience bless th' abstemious few , Fear , shame , and want the thoughtless herd pursue . Behold the Cot ! where thrives th' industrious swain , Source of his pride , his pleasure , and his gain ; Screen'd from the winter's wind , the sun's last ray Smiles on the window and prolongs the day ; Projecting thatch the woodbine's branches stop , And turn their blossoms to the casement's top : All need requires is in that cot contain'd , And much that taste untaught and unrestrain'd Surveys delighted ; there she loves to trace , In one gay picture , all the royal race ; Around the walls are heroes , lovers , kings ; The print that shows them and the verse that sings . Here the last Lewis on his throne is seen , And there he stands imprison'd , and his Queen ; To these the mother takes her child , and shows What grateful duty to his God he owes ; Who gives to him a happy home , where he Lives and enjoys his freedom with the free ; When kings and queens , dethroned , insulted , tried , Are all these blessings of the poor denied . There is King Charles , and all his Golden Rules , Who proved Misfortune's was the best of schools : And there his Son , who , tried by years of pain , Proved that misfortunes may be sent in vain . The Magic-mill that grinds the gran'nams young , Close at the side of kind Godiva hung ; She , of her favourite place the pride and joy , Of charms at once most lavish and most coy , By wanton act the purest fame could raise , And give the boldest deed the chastest praise . There stands the stoutest Ox in England fed ; There fights the boldest Jew , Whitechapel bred ; And here Saint Monday's worthy votaries live , In all the joys that ale and skittles give . Now lo ! on Egypt's coast that hostile fleet , By nations dreaded and by Nelson beat ; And here shall soon another triumph come , A deed of glory in a day of gloom ; Distressing glory ! grievous boon of fate ! The proudest conquest , at the dearest rate . On shelf of deal beside the cuckoo-clock , Of cottage-reading rests the chosen stock ; Learning we lack , not books , but have a kind For all our wants , a meat for every mind : The tale for wonder and the joke for whim , The half-sung sermon and the half-groan'd hymn . No need of classing ; each within its place , The feeling finger in the dark can trace ; " First from the corner , farthest from the wall , " Such all the rules , and they suffice for all . There pious works for Sunday's use are found ; Companions for that Bible newly bound ; That Bible , bought by sixpence weekly saved , Has choicest prints by famous hands engraved ; Has choicest notes by many a famous head , Such as to doubt , have rustic readers led ; Have made them stop to reason why ? and how ? And , where they once agreed , to cavil now . Oh! rather give me commentators plain , Who with no deep researches vex the brain ; Who from the dark and doubtful love to run , And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun ; Who simple truth with nine-fold reasons back , And guard the point no enemies attack . Bunyan's famed Pilgrim rests that shelf upon , A genius rare but rude was honest John ; Not one who , early by the Muse beguiled , Drank from her well the waters undefiled ; Not one who slowly gain'd the hill sublime , Then often sipp'd and little at a time ; But one who dabbled in the sacred springs , And drank them muddy , mix'd with baser things . Here to interpret dreams we read the rules , Science our own ! and never taught in schools ; In moles and specks we Fortune's gifts discern , And Fate's fix'd will from Nature's wanderings learn . Of Hermit Quarll we read , in island rare , Far from mankind and seeming far from care ; Safe from all want , and sound in every limb ; Yes ! there was he , and there was care with him . Unbound and heap'd , these valued tomes beside , Lay humbler works , the pedlar's pack supplied ; Yet these , long since , have all acquired a name ; The Wandering Jew has found his way to fame ; And fame , denied to many a labour'd song , Crowns Thumb the Great , and Hickathrift the strong . There too is he , by wizard-power upheld , Jack , by whose arm the giant-brood were quell'd : His shoes of swiftness on his feet he placed ; His coat of darkness on his loins he braced ; His sword of sharpness in his hand he took , And off the heads of doughty giants stroke : Their glaring eyes beheld no mortal near ; No sound of feet alarm'd the drowsy ear ; No English blood their pagan sense could smell , But heads dropt headlong , wondering why they fell . These are the Peasant's joy , when placed at ease , Half his delighted offspring mount his knees . To every cot the lord's indulgent mind Has a small space for garden-ground assign'd ; Here — till return of morn dismiss'd the farm — The careful peasant plies the sinewy arm , Warm'd as he works , and casts his look around On every foot of that improving ground : It is his own he sees ; his master's eye Peers not about , some secret fault to spy ; Nor voice severe is there , nor censure known ; — Hope , profit , pleasure , — they are all his own . Here grow the humble cives , and , hard by them , The leek with crown globose and reedy stem ; High climb his pulse in many an even row , Deep strike the ponderous roots in soil below ; And herbs of potent smell and pungent taste , Give a warm relish to the night's repast . Apples and cherries grafted by his hand , And cluster'd nuts for neighbouring market stand . Nor thus concludes his labour ; near the cot , The reed-fence rises round some fav'rite spot ; Where rich carnations , pinks with purple eyes , Proud hyacinths , the least some florist's prize , Tulips tall-stemm'd and pounced auriculas rise . Here on a Sunday-eve , when service ends , Meet and rejoice a family of friends ; All speak aloud , are happy and are free , And glad they seem , and gaily they agree . What , though fastidious ears may shun the speech , Where all are talkers , and where none can teach ; Where still the welcome and the words are old , And the same stories are for ever told ; Yet theirs is joy that , bursting from the heart , Prompts the glad tongue these nothings to impart ; That forms these tones of gladness we despise , That lifts their steps , that sparkles in their eyes ; That talks or laughs or runs or shouts or plays , And speaks in all their looks and all their ways . Fair scenes of peace ! ye might detain us long , But vice and misery now demand the song ; And turn our view from dwellings simply neat , To this infected Row , we term our Street . Here , in cabal , a disputatious crew Each evening meet ; the sot , the cheat , the shrew : Riots are nightly heard : — the curse , the cries Of beaten wife , perverse in her replies ; While shrieking children hold each threat'ning hand , And sometimes life , and sometimes food demand : Boys , in their first-stol'n rags , to swear begin , And girls , who heed not dress , are skill'd in gin : Snarers and smugglers here their gains divide ; Ensnaring females here their victims hide ; And here is one , the Sibyl of the Row , Who knows all secrets , or affects to know . Seeking their fate , to her the simple run , To her the guilty , theirs awhile to shun ; Mistress of worthless arts , depraved in will , Her care unblest and unrepaid her skill , Slave to the tribe , to whose command she stoops , And poorer than the poorest maid she dupes . Between the road-way and the walls , offence Invades all eyes and strikes on every sense : There lie , obscene , at every open door , Heaps from the hearth and sweepings from the floor , And day by day the mingled masses grow , As sinks are disembogued and kennels flow . There hungry dogs from hungry children steal ; There pigs and chickens quarrel for a meal ; There dropsied infants wail without redress , And all is want and wo and wretchedness : Yet should these boys , with bodies bronzed and bare , High-swoln and hard , outlive that lack of care — Forced on some farm , the unexerted strength , Though loth to action , is compell'd at length , When warm'd by health , as serpents in the spring , Aside their slough of indolence they fling . Yet , ere they go , a greater evil comes — See! crowded beds in those contiguous rooms ; Beds but ill parted , by a paltry screen Of paper'd lath or curtain dropt between ; Daughters and sons to yon compartments creep , And parents here beside their children sleep : Ye who have power , these thoughtless people part , Nor let the ear be first to taint the heart . Come ! search within , nor sight nor smell regard ; The true physician walks the foulest ward . See! on the floor , what frousy patches rest ! What nauseous fragments on yon fractured chest ! What downy dust beneath yon window-seat ! And round these posts that serve this bed for feet ; This bed where all those tatter'd garments lie , Worn by each sex , and now perforce thrown by ! See! as we gaze , an infant lifts its head , Left by neglect and burrow'd in that bed ; The Mother-gossip has the love suppress'd An infant's cry once waken'd in her breast ; And daily prattles , as her round she takes , ( With strong resentment ) of the want she makes . Whence all these woes ? — From want of virtuous will , Of honest shame , of time-improving skill ; From want of care t' employ the vacant hour , And want of ev'ry kind but want of power . Here are no wheels for either wool or flax , But packs of cards — made up of sundry packs ; Here is no clock , nor will they turn the glass , And see how swift th' important moments pass ; Here are no books , but ballads on the wall , Are some abusive , and indecent all ; Pistols are here , unpair'd ; with nets and hooks , Of every kind , for rivers , ponds , and brooks ; An ample flask , that nightly rovers fill With recent poison from the Dutchman's still ; A box of tools , with wires of various size , Frocks , wigs , and hats , for night or day disguise , And bludgeons stout to gain or guard a prize . To every house belongs a space of ground , Of equal size , once fenced with paling round ; That paling now by slothful waste destroy'd , Dead gorse and stumps of elder fill the void ; Save in the centre-spot , whose walls of clay Hide sots and striplings at their drink or play : Within , a board , beneath a tiled retreat , Allures the bubble and maintains the cheat ; Where heavy ale in spots like varnish shows , Where chalky tallies yet remain in rows ; Black pipes and broken jugs the seats defile , The walls and windows , rhymes and reck'nings vile ; Prints of the meanest kind disgrace the door , And cards , in curses torn , lie fragments on the floor . Here his poor bird th' inhuman Cocker brings , Arms his hard heel and clips his golden wings ; With spicy food th' impatient spirit feeds , And shouts and curses as the battle bleeds . Struck through the brain , deprived of both his eyes , The vanquish'd bird must combat till he dies ; Must faintly peck at his victorious foe , And reel and stagger at each feeble blow : When fallen , the savage grasps his dabbled plumes , His blood-stain'd arms , for other deaths assumes ; And damns the craven-fowl , that lost his stake , And only bled and perish'd for his sake . Such are our Peasants , those to whom we yield Praise with relief , the fathers of the field ; And these who take from our reluctant hands , What Burn advises or the Bench commands . Our Farmers round , well pleased with constant gain , Like other farmers , flourish and complain . — These are our groups ; our Portraits next appear , And close our Exhibition for the year . With evil omen we that year begin : A Child of Shame , — stern Justice adds , of Sin , Is first recorded ; — I would hide the deed , But vain the wish ; I sigh and I proceed : And could I well th' instructive truth convey , 'T would warn the giddy and awake the gay . Of all the nymphs who gave our village grace , The Miller's daughter had the fairest face : Proud was the Miller ; money was his pride ; He rode to market , as our farmers ride , And 't was his boast , inspired by spirits , there , His favourite Lucy should be rich as fair ; But she must meek and still obedient prove , And not presume , without his leave , to love . A youthful Sailor heard him ; — " Ha! " quoth he , ' This Miller's maiden is a prize for me ; " Her charms I love , his riches I desire , " And all his threats but fan the kindling fire ; " My ebbing purse no more the foe shall fill , " But Love's kind act and Lucy at the mill . " Thus thought the youth , and soon the chase began , Stretch'd all his sail , nor thought of pause or plan : His trusty staff in his bold hand he took , Like him and like his frigate , heart of oak ; Fresh were his features , his attire was new ; Clean was his linen , and his jacket blue : Of finest jean , his trowsers , tight and trim , Brush'd the large buckle at the silver rim . He soon arrived , he traced the village-green , There saw the maid , and was with pleasure seen ; Then talk'd of love , till Lucy's yielding heart Confess'd 'twas painful , though 'twas right to part . " For ah ! my father has a haughty soul ; " Whom best he loves , he loves but to control ; " Me to some churl in bargain he'll consign , " And make some tyrant of the parish mine : " Cold is his heart , and he with looks severe " Has often forced but never shed the tear ; " Save , when my mother died , some drops express'd " A kind of sorrow for a wife at rest : — " To me a master's stern regard is shown , " I'm like his steed , prized highly as his own ; " Stroked but corrected , threaten'd when supplied , " His slave and boast , his victim and his pride . " " Cheer up , my lass ! I'll to thy father go , " The Miller cannot be the Sailor's foe ; " Both live by Heaven's free gale , that plays aloud " In the stretch'd canvass and the piping shroud ; " The rush of winds , the flapping sails above , " And rattling planks within , are sounds we love ; " Calms are our dread ; when tempests plough the deep , " We take a reef , and to the rocking sleep . " " Ha! " quoth the Miller , moved at speech so rash , " Art thou like me ? then where thy notes and cash ? " Away to Wapping , and a wife command , " With all thy wealth , a guinea , in thine hand ; " There with thy messmates quaff the muddy cheer , " And leave my Lucy for thy betters here . " " Revenge ! revenge ! " the angry lover cried , Then sought the nymph , and " Be thou now my bride . " Bride had she been , but they no priest could move To bind in law , the couple bound by love . What sought these lovers then by day , by night ? But stolen moments of disturb'd delight ; Soft trembling tumults , terrors dearly prized , Transports that pain'd , and joys that agonised ; Till the fond damsel , pleased with lad so trim , Awed by her parent , and enticed by him , Her lovely form from savage power to save , Gave — not her hand — but ALL she could she gave . Then came the day of shame , the grievous night , The varying look , the wandering appetite ; The joy assumed , while sorrow dimm'd the eyes , The forced sad smiles that follow'd sudden sighs ; And every art , long used , but used in vain , To hide thy progress , Nature , and thy pain . Too eager caution shows some danger's near , The bully's bluster proves the coward's fear ; His sober step the drunkard vainly tries , And nymphs expose the failings they disguise . First , whispering gossips were in parties seen Then louder Scandal walk'd the village-green ; Next babbling Folly told the growing ill , And busy Malice dropp'd it at the mill . " Go ! to thy curse and mine , " the Father said , " Strife and confusion stalk around thy bed ; " Want and a wailing brat thy portion be , " Plague to thy fondness , as thy fault to me ; — " Where skulks the villain ? " — — " On the ocean wide " My William seeks a portion for his bride . " — " Vain be his search ! but , till the traitor come , " The higgler's cottage be thy future home ; " There with his ancient shrew and care abide , " And hide thy head , — thy shame thou canst not hide . " Day after day was pass'd in pains and grief ; Week follow'd week , — and still was no relief : Her boy was born — no lads nor lasses came To grace the rite or give the child a name ; Nor grave conceited nurse , of office proud , Bore the young Christian roaring through the crowd : In a small chamber was my office done , Where blinks through paper'd panes the setting sun ; Where noisy sparrows , perch'd on penthouse near , Chirp tuneless joy , and mock the frequent tear ; Bats on their webby wings in darkness move , And feebly shriek their melancholy love . No Sailor came ; the months in terror fled ! Then news arrived — He fought , and he was dead ! At the lone cottage Lucy lives , and still Walks for her weekly pittance to the mill ; A mean seraglio there her father keeps , Whose mirth insults her , as she stands and weeps ; And sees the plenty , while compell'd to stay , Her father's pride , become his harlot's prey . Throughout the lanes she glides , at evening's close , And softly lulls her infant to repose ; Then sits and gazes , but with viewless look , As gilds the moon the rippling of the brook ; And sings her vespers , but in voice so low , She hears their murmurs as the waters flow : And she too murmurs , and begins to find The solemn wanderings of a wounded mind : Visions of terror , views of woe succeed , The mind's impatience , to the body's need ; By turns to that , by turns to this a prey , She knows what reason yields , and dreads what madness may . Next , with their boy , a decent couple came , And call'd him Robert , 't was his father's name ; Three girls preceded , all by time endear'd , And future births were neither hoped nor fear'd : Blest in each other , but to no excess , Health , quiet , comfort , form'd their happiness ; Love all made up of torture and delight , Was but mere madness in this couple's sight : Susan could think , though not without a sigh , If she were gone , who should her place supply ; And Robert , half in earnest , half in jest , Talk of her spouse when he should be at rest : Yet strange would either think it to be told , Their love was cooling or their hearts were cold . Few were their acres , — but , with these content , They were , each pay-day , ready with their rent : And few their wishes — what their farm denied , The neighbouring town , at trifling cost , supplied . If at the draper's window Susan cast A longing look , as with her goods she pass'd , And , with the produce of the wheel and churn , Bought her a Sunday-robe on her return ; True to her maxim , she would take no rest , Till care repaid that portion to the chest : Or if , when loitering at the Whitsun-fair , Her Robert spent some idle shillings there ; Up at the barn , before the break of day , He made his labour for th' indulgence pay : Thus both — that waste itself might work in vain — Wrought double tides , and all was well again . Yet , though so prudent , there were times of joy , ( The day they wed , the christening of the boy , ) When to the wealthier farmers there was shown Welcome unfeign'd , and plenty like their own ; For Susan served the great , and had some pride Among our topmost people to preside : Yet in that plenty , in that welcome free , There was the guiding nice frugality , That , in the festal as the frugal day , Has , in a different mode , a sovereign sway ; As tides the same attractive influence know , In the least ebb and in their proudest flow ; The wise frugality , that does not give A life to saving , but that saves to live ; Sparing , not pinching , mindful though not mean , O'er all presiding , yet in nothing seen . Recorded next a babe of love I trace ! Of many loves , the mother's fresh disgrace . — " Again , thou harlot ! could not all thy pain , " All my reproof , thy wanton thoughts restrain ? " " Alas ! your reverence , wanton thoughts I grant , " Were once my motive , now the thoughts of want ; " Women , like me , as ducks in a decoy , " Swim down a stream , and seem to swim in joy : " Your sex pursue us , and our own disdain ; " Return is dreadful , and escape is vain . " Would men forsake us , and would women strive " To help the fall'n , their virtue might revive . " For rite of churching soon she made her way , In dread of scandal , should she miss the day : — Two matrons came ! with them she humbly knelt , Their action copied and their comforts felt , From that great pain and peril to be free , Though still in peril of that pain to be ; Alas ! what numbers , like this amorous dame , Are quick to censure , but are dead to shame ! Twin-infants then appear ; a girl , a boy , Th' o'erflowing cup of Gerard Ablett's joy : One had I named in every year that pass'd Since Gerard wed ! and twins behold at last ! Well pleased , the bridegroom smiled to hear — " A vine " Fruitful and spreading round the walls be thine , " And branch-like be thine offspring ! " — Gerard then Look'd joyful love , and softly said , " Amen . " Now of that vine he'd have no more increase , Those playful branches now disturb his peace : Them he beholds around his tables spread , But finds , the more the branch , the less the bread ; And while they run his humble walls about , They keep the sunshine of good humour out . Cease , man , to grieve ! thy master's lot survey , Whom wife and children , thou and thine obey ; A farmer proud , beyond a farmer's pride , Of all around the envy or the guide ; Who trots to market on a steed so fine , That when I meet him , I'm ashamed of mine ; Whose board is high up-heap'd with generous fare , Which five stout sons and three tall daughters share . Cease , man , to grieve , and listen to his care . A few years fled , and all thy boys shall be Lords of a cot , and labourers like thee : Thy girls unportion'd neighb'ring youths shall lead Brides from my church , and thenceforth thou art freed : But then thy master shall of cares complain , Care after care , a long connected train ; His sons for farms shall ask a large supply , For farmers ' sons each gentle miss shall sigh ; Thy mistress , reasoning well of life's decay , Shall ask a chaise , and hardly brook delay ; The smart young cornet who , with so much grace , Rode in the ranks and betted at the race , While the vex'd parent rails at deed so rash , Shall d — n his luck , and stretch his hand for cash . Sad troubles , Gerard ! now pertain to thee , When thy rich master seems from trouble free ; But 'tis one fate at different times assign'd , And thou shalt lose the cares that he must find . " Ah! " quoth our village Grocer , rich and old , " Would I might one such cause for care behold ! " To whom his Friend , " Mine greater bliss would be , " Would Heav'n take those my spouse assigns to me . " Aged were both , that Dawkins , Ditchem this , Who much of marriage thought , and much amiss ; Both would delay , the one , till — riches gain'd , The son he wish'd might be to honour train'd ; His Friend — lest fierce intruding heirs should come , To waste his hoard and vex his quiet home . Dawkins , a dealer once , on burthen'd back Bore his whole substance in a pedlar's pack ; To dames discreet , the duties yet unpaid , His stores of lace and hyson he convey'd : When thus enrich'd , he chose at home to stop And fleece his neighbours in a new-built shop ; Then woo'd a spinster blithe , and hoped , when wed , For love's fair favours and a fruitful bed . Not so his Friend ; — on widow fair and staid He fix'd his eye , but he was much afraid ; Yet woo'd ; while she his hair of silver hue Demurely noticed , and her eye withdrew : Doubtful he paused — " Ah! were I sure , " he cried , " No craving children would my gains divide ; " Fair as she is , I would my widow take , " And live more largely for my partner's sake . " With such their views some thoughtful years the pass'd , And hoping , dreading , they were bound at last . And what their fate ? Observe them as they go , Comparing fear with fear and wo with wo . " Humphrey ! " said Dawkins , " envy in my breast " Sickens to see thee in thy children blest ; " They are thy joys , while I go grieving home " To a sad spouse , and our eternal gloom : " We look despondency ; no infant near , " To bless the eye or win the parent's ear ; " Our sudden heats and quarrels to allay , " And soothe the petty sufferings of the day : " Alike our want , yet both the want reprove ; " Where are , I cry , these pledges of our love ? " When she , like Jacob's wife , makes fierce reply , " Yet fond — Oh! give me children , or I die : " And I return — still childless doom'd to live , " Like the vex'd patriarch — Are they mine to give ? " Ah! much I envy thee thy boys , who ride " On poplar branch , and canter at thy side ; " And girls , whose cheeks thy chin's fierce fondness know , " And with fresh beauty at the contact glow . " " Oh! simple friend , " said Ditchem , " would'st thou gain " A father's pleasure by a husband's pain ? " Alas ! what pleasure — when some vig'rous boy " Should swell thy pride , some rosy girl thy joy ; " Is it to doubt who grafted this sweet flower , " Or whence arose that spirit and that power ? " Four years I've wed ; not one has pass'd in vain ; " Behold the fifth ! behold a babe again ! " My wife's gay friends th' unwelcome imp admire , " And fill the room with gratulation dire : " While I in silence sate , revolving all " That influence ancient men , or that befall ; " A gay pert guest — Heav'n knows his business — came ; " A glorious boy , he cried , and what the name ? " Angry I growl'd , — My spirit cease to tease , " Name it yourselves , — Cain , Judas , if you please ; " His father's give him , — should you that explore , " The devil's or yours : — I said , and sought the door " My tender partner not a word or sigh " Gives to my wrath , nor to my speech reply ; " But takes her comforts , triumphs in my pain , " And looks undaunted for a birth again . " Heirs thus denied afflict the pining heart , And thus afforded , jealous pangs impart ; Let , therefore , none avoid , and none demand These arrows number'd for the giant's hand . Then with their infants three , the parents came , And each assign'd — 'twas all they had — a name ; Names of no mark or price ; of them not one Shall court our view on the sepulchral stone , Or stop the clerk , th' engraven scrolls to spell , Or keep the sexton from the sermon bell . An orphan-girl succeeds : ere she was born Her father died , her mother on that morn : The pious mistress of the school sustains Her parents ' part , nor their affection feigns , But pitying feels : with due respect and joy , I trace the matron at her loved employ ; What time the striplings , wearied e'en with play , Part at the closing of the summer's day , And each by different path returns the well-known way — Then I behold her at her cottage-door , Frugal of light ; — her Bible laid before , When on her double duty she proceeds , Of time as frugal — knitting as she reads : Her idle neighbours , who approach to tell Some trifling tale , her serious looks compel To hear reluctant , — while the lads who pass , In pure respect , walk silent on the grass : Then sinks the day , but not to rest she goes , Till solemn prayers the daily duties close . But I digress , and lo ! an infant train Appear , and call me to my task again . " Why Lonicera wilt thou name thy child ? " I asked the Gardener's wife , in accents mild : " We have a right , " replied the sturdy dame ; — And Lonicera was the infant's name . If next a son shall yield our Gardener joy , Then Hyacinthus shall be that fair boy ; And if a girl , they will at length agree , That Belladonna that fair maid shall be . High-sounding words our worthy Gardener gets , And at his club to wondering swains repeats ; He then of Rhus and Rhododendron speaks , And Allium calls his onions and his leeks ; Nor weeds are now , for whence arose the weed , Scarce plants , fair herbs , and curious flowers proceed ; Where Cuckoo-pints and Dandelions sprung , ( Gross names had they our plainer sires among , ) There Arums , there Leontodons we view , And Artemisia grows , where Wormwood grew . But though no weed exists his garden round , From Rumex strong our Gardener frees his ground , Takes soft Senecio from the yielding land , And grasps the arm'd Urtica in his hand . Not Darwin's self had more delight to sing Of floral courtship , in th' awaken'd Spring , Than Peter Pratt , who simpering loves to tell How rise the Stamens , as the Pistils swell ; How bend and curl the moist-top to the spouse , And give and take the vegetable vows ; How those esteem'd of old but tips and chives , Are tender husbands and obedient wives ; Who live and love within the sacred bower , — That bridal bed , the vulgar term a flower . Hear Peter proudly , to some humble friend , A wondrous secret , in his science , lend : — " Would you advance the nuptial hour , and bring " The fruit of Autumn with the flowers of Spring ; " View that light frame where Cucumis lies spread , " And trace the husbands in their golden bed , " Three powder'd Anthers ; — then no more delay " But to the Stigma's tip their dust convey ; " Then by thyself , from prying glance secure , " Twirl the full tip and make your purpose sure ; " A long-abiding race the deed shall pay , " Nor one unblest abortion pine away . " T' admire their friend's discourse our swains agree , And call it science and philosophy . 'Tis good , 'tis pleasant , through th' advancing year , To see unnumber'd growing forms appear ; What leafy-life from Earth's broad bosom rise ! What insect-myriads seek the summer skies ! What scaly tribes in every streamlet move ; What plumy people sing in every grove ! All with the year awaked to life , delight , and love . Then names are good ; for how , without their aid , Is knowledge , gain'd by man , to man convey'd ? But from that source shall all our pleasures flow ? Shall all our knowledge be those names to know ? Then he , with memory blest , shall bear away The palm from Grew , and Middleton , and Ray : No! let us rather seek , in grove and field , What food for wonder , what for use they yield ; Some just remark from Nature's people bring , And some new source of homage for her King . Pride lives with all ; strange names our rustics give To helpless infants , that their own may live ; Pleased to be known , they'll some attention claim , And find some by-way to the house of fame . The straightest furrow lifts the ploughman's art , The hat he gain'd has warmth for head and heart ; The bowl that beats the greater number down Of tottering nine-pins , gives to fame the clown Or , foil'd in these , he opes his ample jaws , And lets a frog leap down , to gain applause ; Or grins for hours , or tipples for a week , Or challenges a well-pinch'd pig to squeak : Some idle deed , some child's preposterous name , Shall make him known , and give his folly fame . To name an infant meet our village sires , Assembled all as such event requires ; Frequent and full , the rural sages sate , And speakers many urged the long debate , — Some harden'd knaves , who roved the country round , Had left a babe within the parish-bound . — First , of the fact they question'd — " Was it true ? " The child was brought — " What then remain'd to do ? " " Was't dead or living ? " This was fairly proved , — 'T was pinch'd , it roar'd , and every doubt removed . Then by what name th' unwelcome guest to call Was long a question , and it posed them all ; For he who lent it to a babe unknown , Censorious men might take it for his own : They look'd about , they gravely spoke to all , And not one Richard answer'd to the call . Next they inquired the day , when , passing by , Th' unlucky peasant heard the stranger's cry : This known , — how food and raiment they might give , Was next debated — for the rogue would live ; At last , with all their words and work content , Back to their homes the prudent vestry went , And Richard Monday to the workhouse sent . There was he pinch'd and pitied , thump'd and fed , And duly took his beatings and his bread ; Patient in all control , in all abuse , He found contempt and kicking have their use : Sad , silent , supple ; bending to the blow , A slave of slaves , the lowest of the low ; His pliant soul gave way to all things base , He knew no shame , he dreaded no disgrace . It seem'd , so well his passions he suppress'd , No feeling stirr'd his ever-torpid breast ; Him might the meanest pauper bruise and cheat , He was a footstool for the beggar's feet ; His were the legs that ran at all commands ; They used on all occasions Richard's hands : His very soul was not his own ; he stole As others order'd , and without a dole ; In all disputes , on either part he lied , And freely pledged his oath on either side ; In all rebellions Richard join'd the rest , In all detections Richard first confess'd : Yet , though disgraced , he watch'd his time so well , He rose in favour , when in fame he fell ; Base was his usage , vile his whole employ , And all despised and fed the pliant boy . At length , " 'Tis time he should abroad be sent , ' Was whisper'd near him , — and abroad he went ; One morn they call'd him , Richard answer'd not ; They deem'd him hanging , and in time forgot , — Yet miss'd him long , as each , throughout the clan , Found he " had better spared a better man . " Now Richard's talents for the world were fit , He'd no small cunning , and had some small wit ; Had that calm look which seem'd to all assent , And that complacent speech which nothing meant : He'd but one care , and that he strove to hide , How best for Richard Monday to provide . Steel , through opposing plates , the magnet draws , And steely atoms culls from dust and straws ; And thus our hero , to his interest true , Gold through all bars and from each trifle drew ; But still more surely round the world to go , This fortune's child had neither friend nor foe . Long lost to us , at last our man we trace , — " Sir Richard Monday died at Monday-place : " His lady's worth , his daughter's we peruse , And find his grandsons all as rich as Jews : He gave reforming charities a sum , And bought the blessings of the blind and dumb ; Bequeathed to missions money from the stocks , And Bibles issued from his private box ; But to his native place severely just , He left a pittance bound in rigid trust ; — Two paltry pounds , on every quarter's-day , ( At church produced ) for forty loaves should pay ; A stinted gift , that to the parish shows He kept in mind their bounty and their blows ! To farmers three , the year has given a son , Finch on the Moor , and French , and Middleton . Twice in this year a female Giles I see , A Spalding once , and once a Barnaby : — A humble man is he , and , when they meet , Our farmers find him on a distant seat ; There for their wit he serves a constant theme , — " They praise his dairy , they extol his team , " They ask the price of each unrivall'd steed , " And whence his sheep , that admirable breed ? " His thriving arts they beg he would explain , " And where he puts the money he must gain . " They have their daughters , but they fear their friend " Would think his sons too much would condescend ; — " They have their sons who would their fortunes try , " But fear his daughters will their suit deny . " So runs the joke , while James , with sigh profound , And face of care , looks moveless on the ground ; His cares , his sighs , provoke the insult more , And point the jest — for Barnaby is poor . Last in my list , five untaught lads appear ; Their father dead , compassion sent them here , — For still that rustic infidel denied To have their names with solemn rite applied : His , a lone house , by Deadman's Dyke-way stood ; And his , a nightly haunt , in Lonely-wood : Each village inn has heard the ruffian boast , That he believed " in neither God nor ghost ; " That , when the sod upon the sinner press'd , " He , like the saint , had everlasting rest ; " That never priest believed his doctrines true , " But would , for profit , own himself a Jew , " Or worship wood and stone , as honest heathen do ; " That fools alone on future worlds rely , " And all who die for faith , deserve to die . " These maxims , — part th' Attorney's Clerk profess'd , His own transcendent genius found the rest . Our pious matrons heard , and , much amazed , Gazed on the man , and trembled as they gazed ; And now his face explored , and now his feet , Man's dreaded foe , in this bad man , to meet : But him our drunkards as their champion raised , Their bishop call'd , and as their hero praised ; Though most , when sober , and the rest , when sick , Had little question whence his bishoprick But he , triumphant spirit ! all things dared , He poach'd the wood , and on the warren snared ; 'T was his , at cards , each novice to trepan , And call the want of rogues " the rights of man ; " Wild as the winds , he let his offspring rove , And deem'd the marriage-bond the bane of love . What age and sickness , for a man so bold , Had done , we know not ; — none beheld him old : By night , as business urged , he sought the wood , — The ditch was deep , — the rain had caused a flood , — The foot-bridge fail'd , — he plunged beneath the deep , And slept , if truth were his , th' eternal sleep . These have we named ; on life's rough sea they sail , With many a prosperous , many an adverse gale ! Where passion soon , like powerful winds , will rage , And prudence , wearied , with their strength engage : Then each , in aid , shall some companion ask , For help or comfort in the tedious task ; And what that help — what joys from union flow , What good or ill , we next prepare to show ; And row , meantime , our weary bark ashore , As Spenser his — but not with Spenser's oar .

PART II .

Previous Consideration necessary : yet not too long Delay — Imprudent Marriage of old Kirk and his Servant — Comparison between an ancient and youthful Partner to a young Man — Prudence of Donald the Gardener — Parish Wedding : the compelled Bridegroom : Day of Marriage , how spent — Relation of the Accomplishments of Phoebe Dawson , a rustic Beauty : her Lover : his Courtship : their Marriage — Misery of Precipitation — The wealthy Couple : Reluctance in the Husband ; why ? — Unusually fair Signatures in the Register : the common Kind — Seduction of Lucy Collins by Footman Daniel : her rustic Lover : her Return to him — An ancient Couple : Comparisons on the Occasion — More pleasant View of Village Matrimony . Farmers celebrating the Day of Marriage : their Wives — Reuben and Rachel , a happy Pair : an Example of prudent Delay — Reflections on their State who were not so prudent , and its Improvement towards the Termination of Life : an old Man so circumstanced — Attempt to seduce a Village Beauty : Persuasion and Reply : the Event .

Nubere si quà voles , quamvis properabitis ambo , Differ ; habent parvæ commoda magna moræ .

Ovid . Fast . lib. iii . Disposed to wed , e'en while you hasten , stay ; There's great advantage in a small delay : — Thus Ovid sang , and much the wise approve This prudent maxim of the priest of Love ; If poor , delay for future want prepares , And eases humble life of half its cares ; If rich , delay shall brace the thoughtful mind , T' endure the ills that e'en the happiest find : Delay shall knowledge yield on either part , And show the value of the vanquish'd heart ; The humours , passions , merits , failings prove , And gently raise the veil that's worn by Love ; Love , that impatient guide ! — too proud to think Of vulgar wants , of clothing , meat and drink , Urges our amorous swains their joys to seize , And then , at rags and hunger frighten'd , flees : — Yet not too long in cold debate remain ; Till age refrain not — but if old , refrain . By no such rule would Gaffer Kirk be tried ; First in the year he led a blooming bride , And stood a wither'd elder at her side . Oh! Nathan ! Nathan ! at thy years trepann'd , To take a wanton harlot by the hand ! Thou , who wert used so tartly to express Thy sense of matrimonial happiness , Till every youth , whose bans at church were read , Strove not to meet , or meeting , hung his head ; And every lass forbore at thee to look , A sly old fish , too cunning for the hook : And now at sixty , that pert dame to see , Of all thy savings mistress , and of thee ; Now will the lads , remem'bring insults past , Cry , " What , the wise one in the trap at last ! " Fie ! Nathan ! fie ! to let an artful jade The close recesses of thine heart invade ; What grievous pangs ! what suffering she'll impart ! And fill with anguish that rebellious heart ; For thou wilt strive incessantly in vain , By threatening speech thy freedom to regain : But she for conquest married , nor will prove A dupe to thee , thine anger or thy love ; Clamorous her tongue will be : — of either sex , She'll gather friends around thee and perplex Thy doubtful soul ; — thy money she will waste , In the vain ramblings of a vulgar taste ; And will be happy to exert her power , In every eye , in thine , at every hour . Then wilt thou bluster — " No! I will not rest , " And see consumed each shilling of my chest : " Thou wilt be valiant , — " When thy cousins call , " I will abuse and shut my door on all : " Thou wilt be cruel ! — " What the law allows , ' That be thy portion , my ungrateful spouse ! ' Nor other shillings shalt thou then receive , ' And when I die — What! may I this believe ? " Are these true tender tears ? and does my Kitty grieve ? " Ah! crafty vixen , thine old man has fears ; " But weep no more ! I'm melted by thy tears ; " Spare but my money ; thou shalt rule me still , " And see thy cousins — there ! I burn the will . " Thus , with example sad , our year began , A wanton vixen and a weary man ; " But had this tale in other guise been told , " Young let the lover be , the lady old , And that disparity of years shall prove No bane of peace , although some bar to love : 'Tis not the worst , our nuptial ties among , That joins the ancient bride and bridegroom young ; — Young wives , like changing winds , their power display By shifting points and varying day by day ; Now zephyrs mild , now whirlwinds in their force , They sometimes speed , but often thwart our course And much experienced should that pilot be , Who sails with them on life's tempestuous sea . But like a trade-wind is the ancient dame , Mild to your wish and every day the same ; Steady as time , no sudden squalls you fear , But set full sail and with assurance steer ; Till every danger in your way be past , And then she gently , mildly breathes her last ; Rich you arrive , in port awhile remain , And for a second venture sail again . For this , blithe Donald southward made his way And left the lasses on the banks of Tay ; Him to a neighbouring garden fortune sent , Whom we beheld , aspiringly content : Patient and mild he sought the dame to please , Who ruled the kitchen and who bore the keys . Fair Lucy first , the laundry's grace and pride , With smiles and gracious looks , her fortune tried ; But all in vain she praised his " pawky eyne , " Where never fondness was for Lucy seen : Him the mild Susan , boast of dairies , loved , And found him civil , cautious and unmoved : From many a fragrant simple , Catherine's skill Drew oil and essence from the boiling still ; But not her warmth , nor all her winning ways From his cool phlegm could Donald's spirit raise : Of beauty heedless , with the merry mute , To Mistress Dobson he preferr'd his suit ; There proved his service , there address'd his vows , And saw her mistress , — friend , — protectress , — spouse ; A butler now , he thanks his powerful bride , And , like her keys , keeps constant at her side . Next at our altar stood a luckless pair , Brought by strong passions and a warrant there ; By long rent cloak , hung loosely , strove the bride , From every eye , what all perceived , to hide . While the boy-bridegroom , shuffling in his pace , Now hid awhile and then exposed his face ; As shame alternately with anger strove , The brain confused with muddy ale to move In haste and stammering he perform'd his part , And look'd the rage that rankled in his heart ; ( So will each lover inly curse his fate , Too soon made happy and made wise too late : ) I saw his features take a savage gloom , And deeply threaten for the days to come . Low spake the lass , and lisp'd and minced the while , Look'd on the lad , and faintly tried to smile ; With soften'd speech and humbled tone she strove To stir the embers of departed love : While he , a tyrant , frowning walk'd before , Felt the poor purse , and sought the public door , She sadly following in submission went , And saw the final shilling foully spent ; Then to her father's hut the pair withdrew , And bade to love and comfort long adieu ! Ah! fly temptation , youth , refrain ! refrain ! I preach for ever ; but I preach in vain ! Two summers since I saw at Lammas Fair , The sweetest flower that ever blossom'd there , When Phoebe Dawson gaily cross'd the Green , In haste to see and happy to be seen : Her air , her manners , all who saw admired ; Courteous though coy , and gentle though retired ; The joy of youth and health her eyes display'd , And ease of heart her every look convey'd ; A native skill her simple robes express'd , As with untutor'd elegance she dress'd ; The lads around admired so fair a sight , And Phoebe felt , and felt she gave , delight . Admirers soon of every age she gain'd , Her beauty won them and her worth retain'd ; Envy itself could no contempt display , They wish'd her well , whom yet they wish'd away . Correct in thought , she judged a servant's place Preserved a rustic beauty from disgrace ; But yet on Sunday-eve , in freedom's hour , With secret joy she felt that beauty's power , When some proud bliss upon the heart would steal , That , poor or rich , a beauty still must feel . — At length the youth ordain'd to move her breast , Before the swains with bolder spirit press'd ; With looks less timid made his passion known , And pleased by manners most unlike her own ; Loud though in love , and confident though young ; Fierce in his air , and voluble of tongue ; By trade a tailor , though , in scorn of trade , He served the ' Squire , and brush'd the coat he made . Yet now , would Phoebe her consent afford , Her slave alone , again he'd mount the board ; With her should years of growing love be spent , And growing wealth : — she sigh'd and look'd consent . Now , through the lane , up hill , and 'cross the green , ( Seen by but few , and blushing to be seen — Dejected , thoughtful , anxious , and afraid , ) Led by the lover , walk'd the silent maid , Slow through the meadows roved they , many a mile , Toy'd by each bank , and trifled at each stile ; Where , as he painted every blissful view , And highly colour'd what he strongly drew , The pensive damsel , prone to tender fears , Dimm'd the false prospect with prophetic tears . — Thus pass'd th' allotted hours , till lingering late , The lover loiter'd at the master's gate ; There he pronounced adieu ! and yet would stay , Till chidden — soothed — entreated — forced away ; He would of coldness , though indulged , complain , And oft retire , and oft return again ; When , if his teasing vex'd her gentle mind , The grief assumed , compell'd her to be kind ! For he would proof of plighted kindness crave , That she resented first and then forgave , And to his grief and penance yielded more Than his presumption had required before . — Ah! fly temptation , youth ; refrain ! refrain ! Each yielding maid and each presuming swain ! Lo ! now with red rent cloak and bonnet black , And torn green gown loose hanging at her back , One who an infant in her arms sustains , And seems in patience striving with her pains ; Pinch'd are her looks , as one who pines for bread , Whose cares are growing and whose hopes are fled ; Pale her parch'd lips , her heavy eyes sunk low , And tears unnoticed from their channels flow ; Serene her manner , till some sudden pain Frets the meek soul , and then she's calm again ; — Her broken pitcher to the pool she takes , And every step with cautious terror makes ; For not alone that infant in her arms , But nearer cause , her anxious soul alarms . With water burthen'd , then she picks her way , Slowly and cautious , in the clinging clay ; Till , in mid-green , she trusts a place unsound , And deeply plunges in th' adhesive ground ; Thence , but with pain , her slender foot she takes , While hope the mind as strength the frame forsakes : For when so full the cup of sorrow grows , Add but a drop , it instantly o'erflows . And now her path but not her peace she gains , Safe from her task , but shivering with her pains ; Her home she reaches , open leaves the door , And placing first her infant on the floor , She bares her bosom to the wind , and sits , And sobbing struggles with the rising fits : In vain , they come , she feels the inflating grief , That shuts the swelling bosom from relief ; That speaks in feeble cries a soul distress'd , Or the sad laugh that cannot be repress'd . The neighbour-matron leaves her wheel and flies With all the aid her poverty supplies ; Unfee'd , the calls of Nature she obeys , Not led by profit , not allured by praise ; And waiting long , till these contentions cease , She speaks of comfort , and departs in peace . Friend of distress ! the mourner feels thy aid , She cannot pay thee , but thou wilt be paid . But who this child of weakness , want , and care ? 'Tis Phoebe Dawson , pride of Lammas Fair : Who took her lover for his sparkling eyes , Expressions warm , and love-inspiring lies : Compassion first assail'd her gentle heart , For all his suffering , all his bosom's smart : " And then his prayers ! they would a savage move , " And win the coldest of the sex to love : " — But ah ! too soon his looks success declared , Too late her loss the marriage-rite repair'd ; The faithless flatterer then his vows forgot , A captious tyrant or a noisy sot : If present , railing , till he saw her pain'd ; If absent , spending what their labours gain'd ; Till that fair form in want and sickness pined , And hope and comfort fled that gentle mind . Then fly temptation , youth ; resist , refrain ! Nor let me preach for ever and in vain ! Next came a well-dress'd pair , who left their coach , And made , in long procession , slow approach : For this gay bride had many a female-friend , And youths were there , this favour'd youth t' attend : Silent , nor wanting due respect , the crowd Stood humbly round , and gratulation bow'd ; But not that silent crowd , in wonder fix'd , Not numerous friends , who praise and envy mix'd , Nor nymphs attending near to swell the pride Of one more fair , the ever-smiling bride ; Nor that gay bride , adorn'd with every grace , Nor love nor joy triumphant in her face , Could , from the youth's , sad signs of sorrow chase : Why didst thou grieve ? wealth , pleasure , freedom thine ; Vex'd it thy soul , that freedom to resign ? Spake Scandal truth ? " Thou didst not then intend " So soon to bring thy wooing to an end ? " Or , was it , as our prating rustics say , To end as soon , but in a different way ? 'Tis told thy Phillis is a skilful dame , Who play'd uninjured with the dangerous flame : That , while , like Lovelace , thou thy coat display'd , And hid the snare for her affection laid , Thee , with her net , she found the means to catch , And at the amorous see-saw , won the match : Yet others tell , the Captain fix'd thy doubt , He'd call thee brother , or he'd call thee out : — But rest the motive — all retreat too late , Joy like thy bride's should on thy brow have sate ; The deed had then appear'd thine own intent , A glorious day , by gracious fortune sent , In each revolving year to be in triumph spent . Then in few weeks that cloudy brow had been Without a wonder or a whisper seen ; And none had been so weak as to enquire , " Why pouts my Lady ? " or " why frowns the Squire ? " How fair these names , how much unlike they look To all the blurr'd subscriptions in my book : The bridegroom's letters stand in row above . Tapering yet stout , like pine-trees in his grove ; While free and fine the bride's appear below , As light and slender as her jasmines grow . Mark now in what confusion , stoop or stand , The crooked scrawls of many a clownish hand ; Now out , now in , they droop , they fall , they rise , Like raw recruits drawn forth for exercise ; Ere yet reform'd and modell'd by the drill , The free-born legs stand striding as they will . Much have I tried to guide the fist along , But still the blunderers placed their blottings wrong : Behold these marks uncouth ! how strange that men , Who guide the plough , should fail to guide the pen : For half a mile , the furrows even lie ; For half an inch the letters stand awry ; — Our peasants , strong and sturdy in the field , Cannot these arms of idle students wield : Like them , in feudal days , their valiant lords Resign'd the pen and grasp'd their conqu'ring swords ; They to robed clerks and poor dependent men Left the light duties of the peaceful pen ; Nor to their ladies wrote , but sought to prove , By deeds of death , their hearts were fill'd with love . But yet , small arts have charms for female eyes ; Our rustic nymphs the beau and scholar prize ; Unletter'd swains and ploughmen coarse they slight , For those who dress , and amorous scrolls indite . For Lucy Collins happier days had been , Had Footman Daniel scorn'd his native green Or when he came an idle coxcomb down , Had he his love reserved for lass in town ; To Stephen Hill she then had pledged her truth , — A sturdy , sober , kind , unpolish'd youth ; But from the day , that fatal day she spied The pride of Daniel , Daniel was her pride . In all concerns was Stephen just and true ; But coarse his doublet was and patch'd in view , And felt his stockings were , and blacker than his shoe ; While Daniel's linen all was fine and fair , — His master wore it , and he deign'd to wear : ( To wear his livery , some respect might prove ; To wear his linen , must be sign of love : ) Blue was his coat , unsoil'd by spot or stain ; His hose were silk , his shoes of Spanish grain ; A silver knot his breadth of shoulder bore ; A diamond buckle blazed his breast before — Diamond he swore it was ! and show'd it as he swore : Rings on his fingers shone ; his milk-white hand Could pick-tooth case and box for snuff command : And thus , with clouded cane , a fop complete , He stalk'd , the jest and glory of the street . Join'd with these powers , he could so sweetly sing , Talk with such toss , and saunter with such swing ; Laugh with such glee , and trifle with such art , That Lucy's promise fail'd to shield her heart . Stephen , meantime , to ease his amorous cares , Fix'd his full mind upon his farm's affairs ; Two pigs , a cow , and wethers half a score , Increased his stock , and still he look'd for more . He , for his acres few ,