Perkins the Divine .— “ He had a capacious head , with angles winding and roomy enough to lodge all controversial intricacies . ” Reflector ,— I was born under the shadow of St. Dunstan 's steeple , just where the conflux of the eastern and western inhabitants of this twofold city meet and justle in friendly opposition at Temple-bar . The same day which gave me to the world , saw London happy in the celebration of her great annual feast . This I cannot help looking upon as a lively omen of the future great good-will which I was destined to bear toward the city , resembling in kind that solicitude which every Chief Magistrate is supposed to feel for whatever concerns her interests and well-being . Indeed I consider myself in some sort a speculative Lord Mayor of London : for though circumstances unhappily preclude me from the hope of ever arriving at the dignity of a gold chain and Spital Sermon , yet thus much will I say of myself in truth , that Whittington with his catnever went beyond me in affection which I bear to the citizens . I was born , as you have heard , in a crowd . This has begot in me an entire affection for that way of life , amounting to an almost insurmountable aversion from solitude and rural scenes . This aversion was never interrupted or suspended , except for a few years in the younger part of my life , during a period in which I had set my affections upon a charming young woman . Every man , while the passion is upon him , is for a time at least addicted to groves and meadows and purling streams . During this short period of my existence , I contracted just familiarity enough with rural objects to understand tolerably well ever after the poets , when they declaim in such passionate terms in favor of a country-life . For my own part , now the fit is past , I have no hesitation in declaring , that a mob of happy faces crowding up at the pit-door of Drury Lane Theatre , just at the hour of six , gives me ten thousand sincerer pleasures , than I could ever receive from all the flocks of silly sheep that ever whitened the plains of Arcadia or Epsom Downs . This passion for crowds is nowhere feasted so full as in London . The man must have a rare recipe for melancholy who can be dull in Fleet Street . I am naturally inclined to hypochondria , but in London it vanishes , like all other ills . Often , when I have felt a weariness or distaste at home , have I rushed out into her crowded Strand , and fed my humor , till tears have wetted my cheek for unutterable sympathies with the multitudinous moving picture , which she never fails to present at all hours , like the scenes of a shifting pantomime . The very deformities of London , which give distaste to others , from habit do not displease me . The endless succession of shops where Fancy miscalled Folly is supplied with perpetual gauds and toys , excite in me no puritanical aversion . I gladly behold every appetite supplied with its proper food . The obliging customer , and the obliged tradesman — things which live by bowing , and things which exist but for homage — do not affect me with disgust ; from habit I perceive nothing but urbanity , where other men , more refined , discover meanness : I love the very smoke of London , because it has been the medium most familiar to my vision . I see grand principles of honor at work in the dirty ring which encompasses two combatants with fists , and principles of no less eternal justice in the detection of a pickpocket . The salutary astonishment with which an execution is surveyed , convinces me more forcibly than a hundred volumes of abstract polity , that the universal instinct of man in all ages has leaned to order and good government . Thus an art of extracting morality from the commonest incidents of a town life is attained by the same well-natured alchemy with which the Foresters of Arden , in a beautiful country , “ Found tongues in trees , books in the running brooks , Sermons in stones , and good in everything . ” Where has spleen her food but in London ! Humor , Interest , Curiosity , suck at her measureless breasts without a possibility of being satiated . Nursed amid her noise , her crowds , her beloved smoke , what have I been doing all my life , if I have not lent out my heart with usury to such scenes ! I am , Sir , your faithful servant , A LONDONER . Reflector ,— I was amused the other day with having the following notice thrust into my hand by a man who gives out bills at the corner of Fleet Market . Whether he saw any prognostics about me , that made him judge such notice seasonable , I cannot say ; I might perhaps carry in a countenancetraces of a fever which had not long left me . Those fellows have a good instinctive way of guessing at the sort of people that are likeliest to pay attention to their papers . “ BURIAL SOCIETY . “ A favorable opportunity now offers to any person , of either sex , who would wish to be buried in a genteel manner , by paying one shilling entrance , and twopence per week for the benefit of the stock . Members to be free in six months . The money to be paid at Mr. Middleton 's , at the sign of the First and the Last , Stonecutter 's Street , Fleet Market . The deceased to be furnished as follows :— A strong elm coffin , covered with superfine black , and furnished with two rows , all round , close drove , best japanned nails , and adorned with ornamental drops , a handsome plate of inscription , Angel above , and Flower beneath , and four pair of handsome handles , with wrought gripes ; the coffin to be well pitched , lined , and ruffled with fine crape ; a handsome crape shroud , cap , and pillow . For use , a handsome velvet pall , three gentlemen 's cloaks , three crape hat-bands , three hoods and scarfs , and six pair of gloves ; two porters equipped to attend the funeral , a man to attend the same with band and gloves ; also , the burial-fees paid , if not exceeding one guinea . ” “ Man , ” says Sir Thomas Browne , “ is a noble animal , splendid in ashes , and pompous in the grave . ” Whoever drew up this little advertisement certainly understood this appetite in the species , and has made abundant provision for it . It really almost induces a tædium vitæ upon one to read it . Methinks I could be willing to die , in death to be so attended . The two rows all round close-drove best black japanned nails ,— how feelingly do they invite , and almost irresistibly persuade us to come and be fastened down ! what aching head can resist the temptation to repose , which the crape shroud , the cap , and the pillow present ; what sting is there in death , which the handles with wrought gripes are not calculated to pluck away ? what victory in the grave which the drops and the velvet pall do not render at least extremely disputable ? but , above all , the pretty emblematic plate , with the Angel above and the Flower beneath , takes me mightily . The notice goes on to inform us , that though the society has been established but a very few years , upwards of eleven hundred persons have put down their names . It is really an affecting consideration to think of so many poor people , of the industrious and hard-working classclubbing their two-pences to save the reproach of a parish funeral . Many a poor fellow , I dare swear , has that Angel and Flower kept from the Angel and Punchbowl , while , to provide himself a bier , he has curtailed himself of beer . Many a savory morsel has the living body been deprived of , that the lifeless one might be served up in a richer state to the worms . And sure , if the body could understand the actions of the soul , and entertain generous notions of things , it would thank its provident partner , that she had been more solicitous to defend it from dishonors at its dissolution , than careful to pamper it with good things in the time of its union . If Cæsar were chiefly anxious at his death how he might die most decently , every Burial Society may be considered as a club of Cæsars . Nothing tends to keep up , in the imaginations of the poorer sort of people , a generous horror of the work-house more than the manner in which pauper funerals are conducted in this metropolis . The coffin nothing but a few naked planks coarsely put together ,— the want of a pall, the colored coats of the men that are hired , at cheap rates , to carry the body ,— altogether give the notion of the deceased having been some person of an ill life and conversation , some one who may not claim the entire rites of Christian burial ,— one by whom some parts of the sacred ceremony would be desecrated if they should be bestowed upon him . I meet these meagre processions sometimes in the street . They are sure to make me out of humor and melancholy all the day after . They have a harsh and ominous aspect . If there is anything in the prospectus issued from Mr. Middleton 's , Stonecutter 's Street , which pleases me less than the rest , it is to find that the six pair of gloves are to be returned , that they are only lent , or , as the bill expresses it , for use on the occasion . The hood , scarfs , and hat-bands , may properly enough be given up after the solemnity ; the cloaks no gentlemen would think of keeping ; but a pair of gloves , once fitted on , ought not in courtesy to be redemanded . The wearer should certainly have the fee-simple of them . The cost would be but trifling , and they would be a proper memorial of the day . This part of the Proposal wants reconsidering . It is not conceived in the same liberal way of thinking as the rest . I am also a little doubtful whether the limit , within which the burial-fee is made payable , should not be extended to thirty shillings . Some provision too ought undoubtedly to be made in favor of those well-intentioned persons and well-wishers to the fund , who , having all along paid their subscriptions regularly , are so unfortunate as to die before the six months , which would entitle them to their freedom , are quite completed . One can hardly imagine a more distressing case than that of a poor fellow lingering on in a consumption till the period of his freedom is almost in sight , and then finding himself going with a velocity which makes it doubtful whether he shall be entitled to his funeral honors : his quota to which he nevertheless squeezes out , to the diminution of the comforts which sickness demands . I think , in such cases , some of the contribution money ought to revert . With some such modifications , which might easily be introduced , I see nothing in these Proposals of Mr. Middleton which is not strictly fair and genteel ; and heartily recommend them to all persons of moderate incomes , in either sex , who are willing that this perishable part of them should quit the scene of its mortal activities with as handsome circumstances as possible . Before I quit the subject , I must guard my readers against a scandal , which they may be apt to take at the place whence these Proposals purport to be issued . From the sign of the First and the Last , they may conclude that Mr. Middleton is some publican , who , in assembling a club of this description at his house , may have a sinister end of his own , altogether foreign to the solemn purpose for which the club is pretended to be instituted . I must set them right by informing them that the issuer of these Proposals is no publican , though he hangs out a sign , but an honest superintendent of funerals , who , by the device of a Cradle and a Coffin , connecting both ends of human existence together , has most ingeniously contrived to insinuate , that the framers of these first and last receptacles of mankind divide this our life betwixt them , and that all that passes from the midwife to the undertaker may , in strict propriety , go for nothing : an awful and instructive lesson to human vanity . Looking over some papers lately that fell into my hands by chance , and appear to have been written about the beginning of the last century , I stumbled , among the rest , upon the following short Essay , which the writer calls , “ The Character of an Undertaker . ” It is written with some stiffness and peculiarities of style , but some parts of it , I think , not unaptly characterize the profession to which Mr. Middleton has the honor to belong . The writer doubtless had in his mind the entertaining character of Sable , in Steele 's excellent comedy of The Funeral . CHARACTER OF AN UNDERTAKER . “ He is master of the ceremonies at burials and mourning assemblies , grand marshal at funeral processions , the only true yeoman of the body , over which he exercises a dictatorial authority from the moment that the breath has taken leave to that of its final commitment to the earth . His ministry begins where the physician 's , the lawyer 's , and the divine 's end . Or if some part of the functions of the latter run parallel with his , it is only in ordine ad spiritualia . His temporalities remain unquestioned . He is arbitrator of all questions of honor which may concern the defunct ; and upon slight inspection will pronounce how long he may remain in this upper world with credit to himself , and when it will be prudent for his reputation that he should retire . His determination in these points is peremptory and without appeal . Yet , with a modesty peculiar to his profession , he meddles not out of his own sphere . With the good or bad actions of the deceased in his lifetime he has nothing to do . He leaves the friends of the dead man to form their own conjectures as to the place to which the departed spirit is gone . His care is only about the exuviæ . He concerns not himself even about the body , as it is a structure of parts internal , and a wonderful microcosm . He leaves such curious speculations to the anatomy professor . Or , if anything , he is averse to such wanton inquiries , as delighting rather that the parts which he has care of should be returned to their kindred dust in as handsome and unmutilated condition as possible ; that the grave should have its full and unimpaired tribute ,— a complete and just carcass . Nor is he only careful to provide for the body 's entireness , but for its accommodation and ornament . He orders the fashion of its clothes , and designs the symmetry of its dwelling . Its vanity has an innocent survival in him . He is bedmaker to the dead . The pillows which he lays never rumple . The day of interment is the theatre in which he displays the mysteries of his art . It is hard to describe what he is , or rather to tell what he is not , on that day : for , being neither kinsman , servant , nor friend , he is all in turns ; a transcendant , running through all those relations . His office is to supply the place of self-agency in the family , who are presumed incapable of it through grief . He is eyes , and ears , and hands , to the whole household . A draught of wine cannot go round to the mourners , but he must minister it . A chair may hardly be restored to its place by a less solemn hand than his . He takes upon himself all functions , and is a sort of ephemeral major-domo ! He distributes his attentions among the company assembled according to the degree of affliction , which he calculates from the degree of kin to the deceased ; and marshals them accordingly in the procession . He himself is of a sad and tristful countenance ; yet such asis not without some show of patience and resignation at bottom ; prefiguring , as it were , to the friends of the deceased , what their grief shall be when the hand of Time shall have softened and taken down the bitterness of their first anguish ; so handsomely can he fore-shape and anticipate the work of Time . Lastly , with his wand , as with another divining rod , he calculates the depth of earth at which the bones of the dead man may rest , which he ordinarily contrives may be at such a distance from the surface of this earth , as may frustrate the profane attempts of such as would violate his repose , yet sufficiently on this side the centre to give his friends hopes of an easy and practicable resurrection . And here we leave him , casting in dust to dust , which is the last friendly office that he undertakes to do . ” Begging your pardon for detaining you so long among “ graves , and worms , and epitaphs , ” I am , Sir , Your humble servant , MORITURUS . REFLECTOR ,— There is no science in their pretensions to which mankind are more apt to commit grievous mistakes , than in the supposed very obvious one of physiognomy . I quarrel not with the principles of this science , as they are laid down by learned professors ; much less am I disposed , with some people , to deny its existence altogether as any inlet of knowledge that can be depended upon . I believe that there is , or may be , an art to “ read the mind 's construction in the face . ” But , then , in every species of reading , so much depends upon the eyes of the reader ; if they are blear , or apt to dazzle , or inattentive , or strained with too much attention , the optic power will infallibly bring home false reports of what it reads . How often do we say , upon a cursory glance at a stranger , “ What a fine open countenance he has ! ” who , upon second inspection , proves to have the exact features of a knave ? Nay , in much more intimate acquaintances , how a delusion of this kind shall continue for months , years , and then break up all at once . Ask the married man , who has been so but for a short space of time , if those blue eyes where , during so many years of anxious courtship , truth , sweetness , serenity , seemed to be written in characters which could not be misunderstood — ask him if the characters which they now convey be exactly the same ?— if for truth he does not read a dull virtuewhich changes not , only because it wants the judgment to make a preference ?— if for sweetness he does not read a stupid habit of looking pleased at everything ?— if for serenity he does not read animal tranquillity , the dead pool of the heart , which no breeze of passion can stir into health ? Alas ! what is this book of the countenance good for , which when we have read so long , and thought that we understood its contents , there comes a countless list of heart-breaking errata at the end ! But these are the pitiable mistakes to which love alone is subject . I have inadvertently wandered from my purpose , which was to expose quite an opposite blunder , into which we are no less apt to fall , through hate . How ugly a person looks upon whose reputation some awkward aspersion hangs , and how suddenly his countenance clears up with his character ! I remember being persuaded of a man whom I had conceived an ill opinion of , that he had a very bad set of teeth ; which , since I have had better opportunities of being acquainted with his face and facts , I find to have been the very reverse of the truth . That crooked old woman , I once said , speaking of an ancient gentlewoman , whose actions did not square altogether with my notions of the rule of right . The unanimous surprise of the company before whom I uttered these words soon convinced me that I had confounded mental with bodily obliquity , and that there was nothing tortuous about the old lady but her deeds . This humor of mankind to deny personal comeliness to those with whose moral attributes they are dissatisfied , is very strongly shown in those advertisements which stare us in the face from the walls of every street , and , with the tempting bait which they hang forth , stimulate at once cupidity and an abstract love of justice in the breast of every passing peruser : I mean , the advertisements offering rewards for the apprehension of absconded culprits , strayed apprentices , bankrupts who have conveyed away their effects , debtors that have run away from their bail . I observe , that in exact proportion to the indignity with which the prosecutor , who is commonly the framer of the advertisement , conceives he has been treated , the personal pretensions of the fugitive are denied , and his defects exaggerated . A fellow whose misdeeds have been directed against the public in general , and in whose delinquency no individual shall feel himself particularly interested , generally meets with fair usage . A coiner or a smuggler shall get off tolerably well . His beauty , if he has any , is not much underrated , his deformities are not much magnified . A runaway apprentice , who excites perhaps the next least degree of spleen in his prosecutor , generally escapes with a pair of bandy legs ; if he has taken anything with him in his flight , a hitch in his gait is generally superadded . A bankrupt , who has been guilty of withdrawing his effects , if his case be not very atrocious , commonly meets with mild usage . But a debtor , who has left his bail in jeopardy , is sure to be described in characters of unmingled deformity . Here the personal feelings of the bail , which may be allowed to be somewhat poignant , are admitted to interfere ; and , as wrath and revenge commonly strike in the dark , the colors are laid on with a grossness which I am convinced must often defeat its own purpose . The fish that casts an inky cloud about him that his enemies may not find him , cannot more obscure himself by that device than the blackening representations of these angry advertisers must inevitably serve to cloak and screen the persons of those who have injured them from detection . I have before me at this moment one of these bills , which runs thus :— “ FIFTY POUNDS REWARD . “ Run away from his bail , John Tomkins , formerly resident in Princes Street , Soho , but lately of Clerkenwell . Whoever shall apprehend , or cause to be apprehended and lodged in one of his Majesty 's jails , the said John Tomkins , shall receive the above reward . He is a thick-set , sturdy man , about five foot six inches high , halts in his left leg , with a stoop in his gait , with coarse red hair , nose short and cocked up , with little gray eyes ,with a pot-belly ; speaks with a thick and disagreeable voice ; goes shabbily drest ; had on when he went away a greasy shag great-coat with rusty yellow buttons . ” Now , although it is not out of the compass of possibility that John Tomkins aforesaid may comprehend in his agreeable person all the above-mentioned aggregate of charms , yet , from my observation of the manner in which these advertisements are usually drawn up , though I have not the pleasure of knowing the gentleman , yet would I lay a wager , that an advertisement to the following effect would have a much better chance of apprehending and laying by the heels this John Tomkins than the above description , although penned by one who , from the good services which he appears to have done for him , has not improbably been blessed with some years of previous intercourse with the said John . Taking , then , the above advertisement to be true , or nearly so , down to the words “ left leg ” inclusive ,I would proceed thus :— — “ Leans a little forward in his walk ; his hair thick and inclining to auburn ; his nose of the middle size , a little turned up at the end ; lively hazel eyes; inclines to be corpulent ; his voice thick , but pleasing , especially when he sings ; had on a decent shag great-coat with yellow buttons . ” Now I would stake a considerable wagerthat some such mitigated description would lead the beagles of the law into a much surer track for finding this ungracious varlet , than to set them upon a false scent after fictitious ugliness and fictitious shabbiness ; though , to do those gentlemen justice , I have no doubt their experience has taught them in all such cases to abate a great deal of the deformity which they are instructed to expect , and has discovered to them that the Devil 's agents upon this earth , like their master , are far less ugly in reality than they are painted . I am afraid , Mr. Reflector , that I shall be thought to have gone wide of my subject , which was to detect the practical errors of physiognomy , properly so called ; whereas I have introduced physical defects , such as lameness , the effects of accidents upon a man 's person , his wearing apparel , & c ., as circumstances on which the eye of dislike , looking askance , may report erroneous conclusions to the understanding . But if we are liable , through a kind or an unkind passion , to mistake so grossly concerning things so exterior and palpable , how much more are we likely to err respecting those nicer and less perceptible hints of character in a face whose detection constitutes the triumph of the physiognomist ! To revert to those bestowers of unmerited deformity , the framers of advertisements for the apprehension of delinquents , a sincere desire of promoting the end of public justice induces me to address a word to them on the best means of attaining those ends . I will endeavor to lay down a few practical , or rather negative , rules for their use , for my ambition extends no further than to arm them with cautions against the self-defeating of their own purposes :— REFLECTOR ,— My husband and I are fond of company , and being in easy circumstances , we are seldom without a party to dinner two or three days in a week . The utmost cordiality has hitherto prevailed at our meetings ; but there is a young gentleman , a near relation of my husband 's , that has lately come among us , whose preposterous behavior bids fair , if not timely checked , to disturb our tranquillity . He is too great a favorite with my husband in other respects , for me to remonstrate with him in any other than this distant way . A letter printed in your publication may catch his eye ; for he is a great reader , and makes a point of seeing all the new things that come out . Indeed , he is by no means deficient in understanding . My husband says that he has a good deal of wit ; but for my part I cannot say I am any judge of that , having seldom observed him open his mouth except for purposes very foreign to conversation . In short , sir , this young gentleman 's failing is , an immoderate indulgence of his palate . The first time he dined with us , he thought it necessary to extenuate the length of time he kept the dinner on the table , by declaring that he had taken a very long walk in the morning , and came in fasting ; but as that excuse could not serve above once or twice at most , he has latterly dropped the mask altogether , and chosen to appear in his own proper colors , without reserve or apology . You cannot imagine how unpleasant his conduct has become . His way of staring at the dishes as they are brought in , has absolutely something immodest in it : it is like the stare of an impudent man of fashion at a fine woman , when she first comes into a room . I am positively in pain for the dishes , and cannot help thinking they have consciousness , and will be put out of countenance , he treats them so like what they are not . Then again he makes no scruple of keeping a joint of meat on the table , after the cheese and fruit are brought in , till he has what he calls done with it . Now how awkward this looks , where there are ladies , you may judge , Mr. Reflector ,— how it disturbs the order and comfort of a meal . And yet I always make a point of helping him first , contrary to all good manners ,— before any of my female friends are helped , that he may avoid this very error . I wish he would eat before he comes out . What makes his proceedings more particularly offensive at our house is , that my husband , though out of common politeness he is obliged to set dishes of animal food before his visitors , yet himself and his whole familyfeed entirely on vegetables . We have a theory , that animal food is neither wholesome nor natural to man ; and even vegetables we refuse to eat until they have undergone the operation of fire , in consideration of those numberless little living creatures which the glass helps us to detect in every fibre of the plant or root before it be dressed . On the same theory we boil our water , which is our only drink , before we suffer it to come to table . Our children are perfect little Pythagoreans : it would do you good to see them in their nursery , stuffing their dried fruits , figs , raisins , and milk , which is the only approach to animal food which is allowed . They have no notion how the substance of a creature that ever had life can become food for another creature . A beefsteak is an absurdity to them ; a mutton-chop , a solecism in terms ; a cutlet , a word absolutely without any meaning ; a butcher is nonsense , except so far as it is taken for a man who delights in blood , or a hero . In this happy state of innocence we have kept their minds , not allowing them to go into the kitchen , or to hear of any preparations for the dressing of animal food , or even to know that such things are practised . But as a state of ignorance is incompatible with a certain age , and as my eldest girl , who is ten years old next Midsummer , must shortly be introduced into the world and sit at table with us , where she will see some things which will shock all her received notions , I have been endeavoring by little and little to break her mind , and prepare it for the disagreeable impressions which must be forced upon it . The first hint I gave her upon the subject , I could see her recoil from it with the same horror with which we listen to a tale of Anthropophagism ; but she has gradually grown more reconciled to it , in some measure , from my telling her that it was the custom of the world ,— to which , however senseless , we must submit , so far as we could do it with innocence , not to give offence ; and she has shown so much strength of mind on other occasions , which I have no doubt is owing to the calmness and serenity superinduced by her diet , that I am in good hopes when the proper season for her début arrives , she may be brought to endure the sight of a roasted chicken , or a dish of sweet-breads for the first time without fainting . Such being the nature of our little household , you may guess what inroads into the economy of it ,— what resolutions and turnings of things upside down , the example of such a feeder as Mr. —— is calculated to produce . I wonder , at a time like the present , when the scarcity of every kind of food is so painfully acknowledged , that shame has no effect upon him . Can he have read Mr. Malthus 's Thoughts on the Ratio of Food to Population ? Can he think it reasonable that one man should consume the sustenance of many ? The young gentleman has an agreeable air and person , such as are not unlikely to recommend him on the score of matrimony . But his fortune is not over-large ; and what prudent young woman would think of embarking hers with a man who would bring three or four mouthsinto a family ? She might as reasonably choose a widower in the same circumstances , with three or four children . I cannot think who he takes after . His father and mother , by all accounts , were very moderate eaters ; only I have heard that the latter swallowed her victuals very fast , and the former had a tedious custom of sitting long at his meals . Perhaps he takes after both . I wish you would turn this in your thoughts , Mr. Reflector , and give us your ideas on the subject of excessive eating , and , particularly , of animal food . HOSPITA . EDAX ON APPETITE . TO THE EDITOR OF “ THE REFLECTOR . ” REFLECTOR ,— I am going to lay before you a case of the most iniquitous persecution that ever poor devil suffered . You must know , then , that I have been visited with a calamity ever since my birth . How shall I mention it without offending delicacy ? Yet out it must . My sufferings , then , have all arisen from a most inordinate appetite —— Not for wealth , not for vast possessions ,— then might I have hoped to find a cure in some of those precepts of philosophers or poets ,— those verba et voces which Horace speaks of :— “ quibus hunc lenire dolorem Possis , et magnam morbi deponere partem ; ” not for glory , not for fame , not for applause ,— for against this disease , too , he tells us there are certain piacula , or , as Pope has chosen to render it , “ Rhymes , which fresh and fresh applied , Will cure the arrant'st puppy of his pride ; ” nor yet for pleasure , properly so called : the strict and virtuous lessons which I received in early life from the best of parents ,— a pious clergyman of the Church of England , now no more ,— I trust have rendered me sufficiently secure on that side :—— No , Sir , for none of these things ; but an appetite , in its coarsest and least metaphorical sense ,— an appetite for food . The exorbitances of my arrowroot and pappish days I cannot go back far enough to remember ; only I have been told that my mother 's constitution not admitting of my being nursed at home , the woman who had the care of me for that purpose used to make most extravagant demands for my pretended excesses in that kind ; which my parents , rather than believe anything unpleasant of me , chose to impute to the known covetousness and mercenary disposition of that sort of people . This blindness continued on their part after I was sent for home , up to the period when it was thought proper , on account of my advanced age , that I should mix with other boys more unreservedly than I had hitherto done . I was accordingly sent to boarding-school . Here the melancholy truth became too apparent to be disguised . The prying republic of which a great school consists soon found me out : there was no shifting the blame any longer upon other people 's shoulders ,— no good-natured maid to take upon herself the enormities of which I stood accused in the article of bread and butter , besides the crying sin of stolen ends of puddings , and cold pies strangely missing . The truth was but too manifest in my looks ,— in the evident signs of inanition which I exhibited after the fullest meals , in spite of the double allowance which my master was privately instructed by my kind parents to give me . The sense of the ridiculous , which is but too much alive in grown persons , is tenfold more active and alert in boys . Once detected , I was the constant butt of their arrows ,— the mark against which every puny leveller directed his little shaft of scorn . The very Graduses and Thesauruses were raked for phrases to pelt me with by the tiny pedants . Ventri natus — Ventri deditus ,— Vesana gula ,— Escarum gurges ,— Dapibus indulgens ,— Non dans fræna gulæ , - Sectans lautæ fercula mensæ , resounded wheresoever I passed . I led a weary life , suffering the penalties of guilt for that which was no crime , but only following the blameless dictates of nature . The remembrance of those childish reproaches haunts me yet oftentimes in my dreams . My school-days come again , and the horror I used to feel , when in some silent corner , retired from the notice of my unfeeling playfellows , I have sat to mumble the solitary slice of gingerbread allotted me by the bounty of considerate friends , and have ached at heart because I could not spare a portion of it , as I saw other boys do , to some favorite boy ; for if I know my own heart , I was never selfish ,— never possessed a luxury which I did not hasten to communicate to others ; but my food , alas ! was none ; it was an indispensable necessary ; I could as soon have spared the blood in my veins , as have parted that with my companions . Well , no one stage of suffering lasts forever : we should grow reconciled to it at length , I suppose , if it did . The miseries of my school-days had their end ; I was once more restored to the paternal dwelling . The affectionate solicitude of my parents was directed to the good-natured purpose of concealing , even from myself , the infirmity which haunted me . I was continually told that I was growing , and the appetite I displayed was humanely represented as being nothing more than a symptom and an effect of that . I used even to be complimented upon it . But this temporary fiction could not endure above a year or two . I ceased to grow , but , alas ! I did not cease my demands for alimentary sustenance . Those times are long since past , and with them have ceased to exist the fond concealment — the indulgent blindness — the delicate overlooking — the compassionate fiction . I and my infirmity are left exposed and bare to the broad , unwinking eye of the world , which nothing can elude . My meals are scanned , my mouthfuls weighed in a balance ; that which appetite demands is set down to the account of gluttony — a sin which my whole soul abhors — nay , which Nature herself has put it out of my power to commit . I am constitutionally disenabled from that vice ; for how can he be guilty of excess who never can get enough ? Let them cease , then , to watch my plate ; and leave off their ungracious comparisons of it to the seven baskets of fragments , and the supernaturally replenished cup of old Baucis : and be thankful that their more phlegmatic stomachs , not their virtue , have saved them from the like reproaches . I do not see that any of them desist from eating till the holy rage of hunger , as some one calls it , is supplied . Alas ! I am doomed to stop short of that continence . What am I to do ? I am by disposition inclined to conviviality and the social meal . I am no gourmand : I require no dainties : I should despise the board of Heliogabalus , except for its long sitting . Those vivacious , long-continued meals of the latter Romans , indeed , I justly envy ; but the kind of fare which the Curii and Dentati put up with , I could be content with . Dentatus I have been called , among other unsavory jests . Doublemeal is another name which my acquaintance have palmed upon me , for an innocent piece of policy which I put in practice for some time without being found out ; which was — going the round of my friends , beginning with the most primitive feeders among them , who take their dinner about one o'clock , and so successively dropping in upon the next and the next , till by the time I got among my more fashionable intimates , whose hour was six or seven , I have nearly made up the body of a just and complete meal, without taking more than one dinnerat one person 's house . Since I have been found out , I endeavor to make up by a damper , as I call it , at home , before I go out . But , alas ! with me , increase of appetite truly grows by what it feeds on . What is peculiarly offensive to me at those dinner-parties is , the senseless custom of cheese , and the dessert afterwards . I have a rational antipathy to the former ; and for fruit , and those other vain vegetable substitutes for meat, I hold them in perfect contempt . Hay for horses . I remember a pretty apologue , which Mandeville tells , very much to this purpose , in his Fable of the Bees :— He brings in a Lion arguing with a Merchant , who had ventured to expostulate with this king of beasts upon his violent methods of feeding . The Lion thus retorts :— “ Savage I am , but no creature can be called cruel but what either by malice or insensibility extinguishes his natural pity . The Lion was born without compassion : we follow the instinct of our nature ; the gods have appointed us to live upon the waste and spoil of other animals , and as long as we can meet with dead ones , we never hunt after the living ; ‘ tis only man , mischievous man , that can make death a sport . Nature taught your stomach to crave nothing but vegetables .—— Your violent fondness to change , and greater eagerness after novelties , have prompted you to the destruction of animals without justice or necessity . The Lion has a ferment within him , that consumes the toughest skin and hardest bones , as well as the flesh of all animals without exception . Your squeamish stomach , in which the digestive heat is weak and inconsiderable , wo n't so much as admit of the most tender parts of them , unless above half the concoction has been performed by artificial fire beforehand ; and yet what animal have you spared , to satisfy the caprices of a languid appetite ? Languid , I say ; for what is man 's hunger if compared with the Lion 's ? Yours , when it is at the worst , makes you faint ; mine makes me mad : oft have I tried with roots and herbs to allay the violence of it , but in vain : nothing but large quantities of flesh can any ways appease it . ” — Allowing for the Lion not having a prophetic instinct to take in every lusus naturæ that , was possible of the human appetite , he was , generally speaking , in the right ; and the Merchant was so impressed with his argument that , we are told , he replied not , but fainted away . O , Mr. Reflector , that I were not obliged to add , that the creature who thus argues was but a type of me ! Miserable man ! I am that Lion ! “ Oft have I tried with roots and herbs to allay that violence , but in vain ; nothing but ——. ” Those tales which are renewed as often as the editors of papers want to fill up a space in their unfeeling columns , of great eaters ,— people that devour whole geese and legs of mutton for wagers ,— are sometimes attempted to be drawn to a parallel with my case . This wilful confounding of motives and circumstances , which make all the difference of moral or immoral in actions , just suits the sort of talent which some of my acquaintance pride themselves upon . Wagers !— I thank Heaven , I was never mercenary , nor could consent to prostitute a giftof nature , to the enlarging of my worldly substance ; prudent as the necessities , which that fatal gift have involved me in , might have made such a prostitution to appear in the eyes of an indelicate world . Rather let me say , that to the satisfaction of that talent which was given me , I have been content to sacrifice no common expectations ; for such I had from an old lady , a near relation of our family , in whose good graces I had the fortune to stand , till one fatal evening ——. You have seen , Mr. Reflector , if you have ever passed your time much in country towns , the kind of suppers which elderly ladies in those places have lying in petto in an adjoining parlor , next to that where they are entertaining their periodically invited coevals with cards and muffins . The cloth is usually spread some half-hour before the final rubber is decided , whence they adjourn to sup upon what may emphatically be called nothing ;— a sliver of ham , purposely contrived to be transparent to show the china-dish through it , neighboring a slip of invisible brawn , which abuts upon something they call a tartlet , as that is bravely supported by an atom of marmalade , flanked in its turn by a grain of potted beef , with a power of such dishlings , minims of hospitality , spread in defiance of human nature , or rather with an utter ignorance of what it demands . Being engaged at one of these card-parties , I was obliged to go a little before supper-time, and the old lady , with a sort of fear shining through the smile of courteous hospitality that beamed in her countenance , begged me to step into the next room and take something before I went out in the cold ,— a proposal which lay not in my nature to deny . Indignant at the airy prospect I saw before me , I set to , and in a trice dispatched the whole meal intended for eleven persons ,— fish , flesh , fowl , pastry ,— to the sprigs of garnishing parsley , and the last fearful custard that quaked upon the board . I need not describe the consternation , when in due time the dowagers adjourned from their cards . Where was the supper ?— and the servants ’ answer , Mr. —— had eat it all .— That freak , however , jested me out of a good three hundred pounds a year , which I afterwards was informed for a certainty the old lady meant to leave me . I mention it not in illustration of the unhappy faculty which I am possessed of ; for any unlucky wag of a school-boy , with a tolerable appetite , could have done as much without feeling any hurt after it ,— only that you may judge whether I am a man likely to set my talent to sale , or to require the pitiful stimulus of a wager . I have read in Pliny , or in some author of that stamp , of a reptile in Africa , whose venom is of that hot , destructive quality , that wheresoever it fastens its tooth , the whole substance of the animal that has been bitten in a few seconds is reduced to dust , crumbles away , and absolutely disappears : it is called , from this quality , the Annihilator . Why am I forced to seek , in all the most prodigious and portentous facts of Natural History , for creatures typical of myself ? I am that snake , that Annihilator : “ wherever I fasten , in a few seconds ——. ” O happy sick men , that are groaning under the want of that very thing , the excess of which is my torment ! O fortunate , too fortunate , if you knew your happiness , invalids ! What would I not give to exchange this fierce concoctive and digestive heat ,— this rabid fury which vexes me , which tears and torments me ,— for your quiet , mortified , hermit-like , subdued , and sanctified stomachs , your cool , chastened inclinations and coy desires for food ! To what unhappy figuration of the parts intestine I owe this unnatural craving , I must leave to the anatomists and the physicians to determine : they , like the rest of the world , have doubtless their eye upon me ; and as I have been cut up alive by the sarcasms of my friends , so I shudder when I contemplate the probability that this animal frame , when its restless appetites shall have ceased their importunity , may be cut up alsoto determine in what system of solids or fluids this original sin of my constitution lay lurking . What work will they make with their acids and alkalines , their serums and coagulums , effervescences , viscous matter , bile , chyle , and acrimonious juices , to explain that cause which Nature , who willed the effect to punish me for my sins , may no less have determined to keep in the dark from them , to punish them for their presumption ! You may ask , Mr. Reflector , to what purpose is my appeal to you ; what can you do for me ? Alas ! I know too well that my case is out of the reach of advice ,— out of the reach of consolation . But it is some relief to the wounded heart to impart its tale of misery ; and some of my acquaintance , who may read my case in your pages under a borrowed name , may be induced to give it a more humane consideration than I could ever yet obtain from them under my own . Make them , if possible , to reflect , that an original peculiarity of constitution is no crime ; that not that which goes into the mouth desecrates a man , but that which comes out of it ,— such as sarcasm , bitter jests , mocks and taunts , and ill-natured observations ; and let them consider , if there be such thingsas Pious Treachery , Innocent Adultery , & c ., whether there may not be also such a thing as Innocent Gluttony . I shall only subscribe myself , Your afflicted servant , EDAX . H —— Mr. Elliston . BELVIL Mr. Bartley . LANDLORD PRY Mr. Wewitzer . MELESINDA Miss Mellon . MAID TO MELESINDA Mrs. Harlowe . Gentlemen , Ladies , Waiters , Servants , & c . Scene — BATH . PROLOGUE , SPOKEN BY MR. ELLISTON . If we have sinn 'd in paring down a name , All civil , well-bred authors do the same . Survey the columns of our daily writers — You 'll find that some Initials are great fighters . How fierce the shock , how fatal is the jar , When Ensign W. meets Lieutenant R . With two stout seconds , just of their own gizzard , Cross Captain X. and rough old General Izzard ! Letter to Letter spreads the dire alarms , Till half the Alphabet is up in arms . Nor with less lustre have Initials shone , To grace the gentler annals of Crim . Con . Where the dispensers of the public lash Soft penance give ; a letter and a dash — Where Vice reduced in size shrinks to a failing , And loses half her grossness by curtailing . Faux pas are told in such a modest way ,— “ The affair of Colonel B —— with Mrs. A —— ” You must forgive them — for what is there , say , Which such a pliant Vowel must not grant To such a very pressing Consonant ? Or who poetic justice dares dispute , When , mildly melting at a lover 's suit , The wife 's a Liquid , her good man a Mute ? Even in the homelier scenes of honest life , The coarse-spun intercourse of man and wife , Initials I am told have taken place Of Deary , Spouse , and that old-fashion 'd race ; And Cabbage , ask 'd by brother Snip to tea , Replies , “ I 'll come — but it do n't rest with me — I always leaves them things to Mrs. C . ” O should this mincing fashion ever spread From names of living heroes to the dead , How would Ambition sigh , and hang the head , As each loved syllable should melt away — Her Alexander turn 'd into great A —— A single C. her Cæsar to express — Her Scipio shrunk into a Roman S —— And , nick 'd and dock 'd to these new modes of speech , Great Hannibal himself a Mr. H ——. H. Landlord , has the man brought home my boots ? H. You have paid him ? H. Why , Mr. H. to be sure . H. Rot his impertinence ! Bid him put in Nebuchadnezzar , and not trouble me with his scruples . H. Give the man half-a-crown , and bid him return my best respects to his master . Presents , it seems , will find me out , with any name or no name . Enter 2d Waiter . 2d Waiter . Sir , the man that makes up the Directory is at the door . H. Give him a shilling ; that is what these fellows come for . 2d Waiter . He has sent up to know by what name your Honor will please to be inserted . H. Zounds , fellow , I give him a shilling for leaving out my name , not for putting it in . This is one of the plaguy comforts of going anonymous .Enter 3d Waiter .3d Waiter . Two letters for Mr. H . H. From ladiesThis from Melesinda , to remind me of the morning-call I promised ; the pretty creature positively languishes to be made Mrs. H. I believe I must indulge herThis from her cousin , to bespeak me to some party , I suppose,— Oh , “ this evening ” — “ Tea and cards ” —Dear H ., thou art certainly a pretty fellow . I wonder what makes thee such a favorite among the ladies : I wish it may not be owing to the concealment of thy unfortunate —— pshaw ! Enter 4th Waiter . 4th Waiter . Sir , one Mr. Printagain is inquiring for you . H. Oh , I remember , the poet ; he is publishing by subscription . Give him a guinea , and tell him he may put me down . 4th Waiter . What name shall I tell him , Sir ? H. Zounds , he is a poet ; let him fancy a name .Enter 5th Waiter . 5th Waiter . Sir , Bartlemy the lame beggar , that you sent a private donation to last Monday , has by some accident discovered his benefactor , and is at the door waiting to return thanks . H. Oh , poor fellow , who could put it into his head ? Now I shall be teased by all his tribe , when once this is known . Well , tell him I am glad I could be of any service to him , and send him away . 5th Waiter . I would have done so , Sir ; but the object of his call now , he says , is only to know who he is obliged to . H. Why , me . 5th Waiter . Yes , Sir . H. Me , me , me ; who else , to be sure ? 5th Waiter . Yes , Sir ; but he is anxious to know the name of his benefactor . H. Here is a pampered rogue of a beggar , that cannot be obliged to a gentleman in the way of his profession , but he must know the name , birth , parentage , and education of his benefactor ! I warrant you , next he will require a certificate of one 's good behavior , and a magistrate 's license in one 's pocket , lawfully empowering so and so to — give an alms . Anything more ? 5th Waiter . Yes , Sir ; here has been Mr. Patriot , with the county petition to sign ; and Mr. Failtime , that owes so much money , has sent to remind you of your promise to bail him . H. Neither of which I can do , while I have no name . Here is more of the plaguy comforts of going anonymous , that one can neither serve one 's friend nor one 's country . Damn it , a man had better be without a nose , than without a name . I will not live long in this mutilated , dismembered state ; I will to Melesinda this instant , and try to forget these vexations . Melesinda ! there is music in the name ; but then , hang it ! there is none in mine to answer to it .1st Gent . Who the devil is this extraordinary personage ? 2d Gent . Who ? Why , ‘ tis Mr. H . 1st Gent . Has he no more name ? 2d Gent . None that has yet transpired . No more ! why , that single letter has been enough to inflame the imaginations of all the ladies in Bath . He has been here but a fortnight , and is already received into all the first families . 1st Gent . Wonderful ! yet , nobody know who he is , or where he comes from ! 2d Gent . He is vastly rich , gives away money as if he had infinity ; dresses well , as you see ; and for address , the mothers are all dying for fear the daughters should get him ; and for the daughters , he may command them as absolutely as ——. Melesinda , the rich heiress , ‘ tis thought , will carry him . 1st Gent . And is it possible that a mere anonymous — 2d Gent . Phoo ! that is the charm .— Who is he ? and what is he ? and what is his name ?—— The man with the great nose on his face never excited more of the gaping passion of wonderment in the dames of Strasburg , than this new-comer , with the single letter to his name , has lighted up among the wives and maids of Bath ; his simply having lodgings here , draws more visitors to the house than an election . Come with me to the Parade , and I will show you more of him . H .Ho ——! the devil . Hush . H. It is , it is your old friend Jack , that shall be nameless . H .Do n't name it . H. My curst unfortunate name . I have reasons to conceal it for a time . H. No , I assure you . H. I do n't use to travel with such cumbersome luggage . H. To relieve you at once from all disgraceful conjecture , you must know , ‘ tis nothing but the sound of my name . Belvil Ridiculous ! ‘ tis true yours is none of the most romantic ; but what can that signify in a man ? H. You must understand that I am in some credit with the ladies . H. And truly I think not without some pretensions . My fortune — H. My figure — H. My parts — H. My conversation — H. But then my name — damn my name ! H. Not so . Oh , Belvil , you are blessed with one which sighing virgins may repeat without a blush , and for it change the paternal . But what virgin of any delicacywould endure to be called Mrs .——? H. Potts is tolerable , Deady is sufferable , Gubbins is bearable , and Clutterbuck is endurable , but Ho —— H. Ay , and of my father that begot me , and my father 's father , and all their forefathers that have borne it since the Conquest . H. I have tried them . I tell you there is neither maiden of sixteen nor widow of sixty but would turn up their noses at it . I have been refused by nineteen virgins , twenty-nine relicts , and two old maids . H. Parsons have stuck at publishing the banns , because they averred it was a heathenish name ; parents have lingered their consent , because they suspected it was a fictitious name ; and rivals have declined my challenges , because they pretended it was an ungentlemanly name . H. To engage the affections of some generous girl , who will be content to take me as Mr. H . H. Yes , that is the name I go by here ; you know one likes to be as near the truth as possible . H. To accompany me to the altar without a name — in short , to suspend her curiositytill the moment the priest shall pronounce the irrevocable charm , which makes two names one . H. Exactly such a girl it has been my fortune to meet with ; hark'e—Yet , hang it ! ‘ tis cruel to betray her confidence . H. As you say , the family-name must be perpetuated . H. True ; but come , I will show you the house where dwells this credulous melting fair . H. My dear Melesinda . H. My dear Melesinda , press me no more for the disclosure of that , which in the face of day so soon must be revealed . Call it whim , humor , caprice , in me . Suppose , I have sworn an oath , never , till the ceremony of our marriage is over , to disclose my true name . H. Ungenerous Melesinda ! I implore you to give me this one proof of your confidence . The holy vow once past , your H. shall not have a secret to withhold . H. Call me ? call me anything , call me Love , Love ! ay Love : Love will do very well . H. How many ? ud , that is coming to the question with a vengeance ! One , two , three , four ,— what does it signify how many syllables ? H. My Melesinda 's mind , I had hoped , was superior to this childish curiosity . H. What are you about , you dog ? H. What else could move you to open that box ? H. So little rusty happened to fit !— and would not a rope fit that rogue 's neck ? I see the papers have not been moved : all is safe , but it was as well to frighten him a littleCome , Landlord , as I think you honest , and suspect you only intended to gratify a little foolish curiosity — H. For this time I will pass it over . Your name is Pry , I think ? H. An apt name : you have a prying temper — I mean some little curiosity — a sort of inquisitiveness about you . H. You will certainly be hanged some day for peeping into some bureau or other just to see what is in it . H. A very harmless piece of curiosity , truly ; and now , Mr. Pry , first have the goodness to leave that box with me , and then do me the favor to carry your curiosity so far , as to inquire if my servants are within . H. Another tolerable specimen of the comforts of going anonymous ! Enter Two Footmen . 1st Footman . You speak first . 2d Footman . You had better speak . 1st Footman . You promised to begin . H. They have something to say to me . The rascals want their wages raised , I suppose ; there is always a favor to be asked when they come smiling . Well , poor rogues , service is but a hard bargain at the best . I think I must not be close with them . Well , David — well , Jonathan . 1st Footman . We have served your honor faithfully — 2d Footman . Hope your honor wo n't take offence — H. The old story , I suppose — wages ? 1st Footman . That 's not it , your honor . 2d Footman . You speak . 1st Footman . But if your honor would just be pleased to — 2d Footman . Only be pleased to — H. Be quick with what you have to say , for I am in haste . 1st Footman . Just to — 2d Footman . Let us know who it is — 1st Footman . Who it is we have the honor to serve . H. Why me , me , me ; you serve me . 2d Footman . Yes , Sir ; but we do not know who you are . H. Childish curiosity ! do not you serve a rich master , a gay master , an indulgent master ? 1st Footman . Ah , Sir ! the figure you make is to us , your poor servants , the principal mortification . 2d Footman . When we get over a pot at the publichouse , or in a gentleman 's kitchen , or elsewhere , as poor servants must have their pleasures — when the question goes round , who is your master ? and who do you serve ? and one says , I serve Lord So-and-so , and another , I am Squire Such-a-one 's footman — 1st Footman . We have nothing to say for it , but that we serve Mr. H . 2d Footman . Or Squire H . H. Really you are a couple of pretty modest , reasonable personages ! but I hope you will take it as no offence , gentlemen , if , upon a dispassionate review of all that you have said , I think fit not to tell you any more of my name , than I have chosen for especial purposes to communicate to the rest of the world . 1st Footman . Why , then , Sir , you may suit yourself . 2d Footman . We tell you plainly , we cannot stay . 1st Footman . We do n't choose to serve Mr. H . 2d Footman . Nor any Mr. or Squire in the alphabet — 1st Footman . That lives in Chris-cross Row . H. Go , for a couple of ungrateful , inquisitive , senseless rascals ! Go ; hang , starve , or drown !— Rogues , to speak thus irreverently of the alphabet — I shall live to see you glad to serve old Q — to curl the wig of great S — adjust the dot of little i — stand behind the chair of X , Y , Z — wear the livery of Etcætera — and ride behind the sulky of And-by-itself-and ! ACT II . H. Ladies , this is so obliging — 4th Lady . O , Mr. H ., those ranunculas you said were dying , pretty things , they have got up — 5th Lady . I have worked that sprig you commended — I want you to come — H. Ladies — 6th Lady . I have sent for that piece of music from London . H. The Mozart— Melesinda ! Several Ladies at once . Nay , positively , Melesinda , you sha n't engross him all to yourself .1st Gent . We sha n't be able to edge in a word , now this coxcomb is come . 2d Gent . Damn him , I will affront him . 1st Gent . Sir , with your leave , I have a word to say to one of these ladies . 2d Gent . If we could be heard — H. You see , gentlemen , how the matter stands .I am not my own master : positively I exist and breathe but to be agreeable to these — Did you speak ? 1st Gent . And affects absence of mind — Puppy ! H. Who spoke of absence of mind ; did you , Madam ? How do you do , Lady Wearwell — how do ? I did not see your ladyship before — what was I about to say — O — absence of mind . I am the most unhappy dog in that way , sometimes spurt out the strangest things — the most mal-à-propos — without meaning to give the least offence , upon my honor — sheer absence of mind — things I would have given the world not to have said . 1st Gent . Do you hear the coxcomb ? 1st Lady . Great wits , they say — 2d Lady . Your fine geniuses are most given — 3d Lady . Men of bright parts are commonly too vivacious — H. But you shall hear . I was to dine the other day at a great Nabob 's that must be nameless , who , between ourselves , is strongly suspected of — being very rich , that 's all . John , my valet , who knows my foible , cautioned me , while he was dressing me , as he usually does where he thinks there 's a danger of my committing a lapsus , to take care in my conversation how I made any allusion direct or indirect to presents — you understand me ? I set out double charged with my fellow 's consideration and my own ; and , to do myself justice , behaved with tolerable circumspection for the first half-hour or so ,— till at last a gentleman in company , who was indulging a free vein of raillery at the expense of the ladies , stumbled upon that expression of the poet , which calls them “ fair defects . ” 1st Lady . It is Pope , I believe , who says it . H. No , Madam ; Milton . Where was I ? Oh , “ fair defects . ” This gave occasion to a critic in company , to deliver his opinion on the phrase — that led to an enumeration of all the various words which might have been used instead of “ defect , ” as want , absence , poverty , deficiency , lack . This moment I , who had not been attending to the progress of the argumentstarting suddenly up out of one of my reveries , by some unfortunate connection of ideas , which the last fatal word had excited , the devil put it into my head to turn round to the Nabob , who was sitting next me , and in a very marked mannerto put the question to him , Pray , sir , what may be the exact value of a lack of rupees ? You may guess the confusion which followed . 1st Lady . What a distressing circumstance ! 2d Lady . To a delicate mind —— 3d Lady . How embarrassing —— 4th Lady . I declare , I quite pity you . 1st Gent . Puppy ! H. A Baronet at the table , seeing my dilemma , jogged my elbow ; and a good-natured Duchess , who does everything with a grace peculiar to herself , trod on my toes at that instant : this brought me to myself , and — covered with blushes , and pitied by all the ladies — I withdrew . 1st Lady . How charmingly he tells a story . 2nd Lady . But how distressing ! H. Lord Squandercounsel , who is my particular friend , was pleased to rally me in his inimitable way upon it next day . I shall never forget a sensible thing he said on the occasion — speaking of absence of mind , my foible — says he , my dear Hogs — H. My dear Hogsflesh — my name —— O my cursed unfortunate tongue ! H. I mean — where was I ? 1st Lady . Filthy — abominable ! 2nd Lady . Unutterable ! 3rd Lady . Hogs — foh ! 4th Lady . Disgusting ! 5th Lady . Vile ! 6th Lady . Shocking ! 1st Lady . Odious ! 2nd Lady . Hogs — pah ! 3rd Lady . A smelling-bottle — look to Miss Melesinda . Poor thing ! it is no wonder . You had better keep off from her , Mr. Hogsflesh , and not be pressing about her in her circumstances . 1st Gent . Good time of day to you , Mr. Hogsflesh . 2nd Gent . The compliments of the season to you , Mr. Hogsflesh . H. This is too much — flesh and blood cannot endure it . 1st Gent . What flesh ?— hog'shYpppHeNflesh ? 2nd Gent . How he sets up his bristles ! H. Bristles ! 1st Gent . He looks as fierce as a hog in armor . H. A hog !— Madam !—1st Lady . Extremely obliged to you for your attentions ; but do n't want a partner . 2d Lady . Greatly flattered by your preference : but believe I shall remain single . 3d Lady . Shall always acknowledge your politeness ; but have no thoughts of altering my condition . 4th Lady . Always be happy to respect you as a friend ; but you must not look for anything further . 5th Lady . No doubt of your ability to make any woman happy ; but have no thoughts of changing my name . 6th Lady . Must tell you , Sir , that if , by your insinuations , you think to prevail with me , you have got the wrong sow by the ear . Does he think any lady would go to pig with him ? H. I shall go mad !— to be refused by old Mother Damnable — she that 's so old , nobody knows whether she was ever manned or no , but passes for a maid by courtesy ; her juvenile exploits being beyond the farthest stretch of tradition !— Old Mother Damnable ! H .Was ever anything so mortifying ? to be refused by old Mother Damnable !— with such parts and address ,— and the little squeamish devils , to dislike me for a name , a sound .— Oh my cursed name ! that it was something I could be revenged on ! if it were alive , that I might tread upon it , or crush it , or pummel it , or kick it , or spit it out — for it sticks in my throat , and will choke me . My plaguy ancestors ! if they had left me but a Van , or a Mac , or an Irish O ’ , it had been something to qualify it .— Mynheer Van Hogsflesh ,— or Sawney Mac Hogsflesh ,— or Sir Phelim O'Hogsflesh ,— but downright blunt ———. If it had been any other name in the world , I could have borne it . If it had been the name of a beast , as Bull , Fox , Kid , Lamb , Wolf , Lion ; or of a bird , as Sparrow , Hawk , Buzzard , Daw , Finch , Nightingale ; or of a fish , as Sprat , Herring , Salmon ; or the name of a thing , as Ginger , Hay , Wood ; or of a color , as Black , Gray , White , Green ; or of a sound , as Bray ; or the name of a month , as March , May ; or of a place , as Barnet , Baldock , Hitchen ; or the name of a coin , as Farthing , Penny , Twopenny ; or of a profession , as Butcher , Baker , Carpenter , Piper , Fisher , Fletcher , Fowler , Glover ; or a Jew 's name , as Solomons , Isaacs , Jacobs ; or a personal name , as Foot , Leg , Crookshanks , Heaviside , Sidebottom , Longbottom , Ramsbottom , Winterbottom ; or a long name , as Blanchenhagen , or Blanchenhausen ; or a short name , as Crib , Crisp , Crips , Tag , Trot , Tub , Phips , Padge , Papps , or Prig , or Wig , or Pip , or Trip ; Trip had been something , but Ho — -  .Farewell the most distant thoughts of marriage ; the finger-circling ring , the purity figuring glove , the envy-pining bridemaids , the wishing parson , and the simpering clerk . Farewell the ambiguous blush-raising joke , the titter-provoking pun , the morning-stirring drum .— No son of mine shall exist , to bear my ill-fated name . No nurse come chuckling , to tell me it is a boy . No midwife , leering at me from under the lids of professional gravity . I dreamed of caudle .—Lullaby , Lullaby ,— hush-a-by-baby — how like its papa it is !—And then , when grown up , “ Is this your son , Sir ? ” “ Yes , Sir , a poor copy of me , a sad young dog ,— just what his father was at his age ,— I have four more at home . ” Oh ! oh ! oh ! H. Landlord , I must pack up tonight ; you will see all my things got ready . H. He has heard it all . H. Pigs ! H. Scorch my crackling ! a queer phrase ; but I suppose he do n't mean to affront me . H. As you say , Landlord , thinking of a thing does but augment it . H. Hogment it ! damn it , I said augment it . H. Lard ! H. Smoke me ! H. That 's another of your phrases , I presume . H. Oh , I wish I were anonymous . H. Melesinda , you behold before you a wretch who would have betrayed your confidence — but it was love that prompted him ; who would have trick 'd you , by an unworthy concealment , into a participation of that disgrace which a superficial world has agreed to attach to a name — but with it you would have shared a fortune not contemptible , and a heart — but ‘ tis over now . That name he is content to bear alone — to go where the persecuted syllables shall be no more heard , or excite no meaning — some spot where his native tongue has never penetrated , nor any of his countrymen have landed , to plant their unfeeling satire , their brutal wit , and national ill manners — where no Englishmen —Some yet undiscovered Otaheite , where witless , unapprehensive savages shall innocently pronounce the ill-fated sounds , and think them not inharmonious . H. Who knows but among the female natives might be found —— H. One who would be more kind than — some Oberea — Queen Oberea . H. Or what if I were to seek for proofs of reciprocal esteem among unprejudiced African maids , in Monomotopa ? H. Monomotopa H. No power of man can relieve me; but it must lie at the root , gnawing at the root — here it will lie . H. Gnawing at the root — there it will lie . H. Gnawing at the root —— ha ! pish ! nonsense ! give it me — what !promotions , bankrupts — a great many bankrupts this week — there it will lie .“ The King has been graciously pleased ” — gnawing at the root — “ graciously pleased to grant unto John Hogsflesh , ” — the devil — “ Hogsflesh , Esq ., of Sty Hall , in the county of Hants , his royal license and authority ” — O Lord ! O Lord !— “ that he and his issue ” — me and my issue — “ may take and use the surname and arms of Bacon ” — Bacon , the surname and arms of Bacon — “ in pursuance of an injunction contained in the last will and testament of Nicholas Bacon , Esq ., his late uncle , as well as out of grateful respect to his memory : ” — grateful respect ! poor old soul —— - here 's more — “ and that such arms may be first duly exemplified “ — they shall , I will take care of that — “ according to the laws of arms , and recorded in the Herald 's Office . ” H. Generous Melesinda ! my dear friend — “ he and his issue , ” me and my issue !— O Lord !— H. Bacon , Bacon , Bacon — how odd it sounds ! I could never be tired of hearing it . There was Lord Chancellor Bacon . Methinks I have some of the Verulam blood in me already .— Methinks I could look through Nature — there was Friar Bacon , a conjurer ,— I feel as if I could conjure too —— H. “ Surname and arms ” — H. There 's no such person — nor there never was — nor ‘ tis not fit there should be — “ surname and arms ” — H. “ His Majesty has been graciously pleased ” — 1st Lady . I am sure we all join in hearty congratulation —2nd Lady . And wish you joy with all our hearts — H. Ladies , for your congratulations I thank you ; for the favors you have lavished on me , and in particular for this lady 'sgood opinion , I rest your debtor . As to any future favors —— Madam , shall always acknowledge your politeness ; but at present , you see , I am engaged with a partner . Always be happy to respect you as a friend , but you must not look for anything further . Must beg of you to be less particular in your addresses to me . Ladies all , with this piece of advice , of Bath and you Your ever grateful servant takes his leave . Lay your plans surer when you plot to grieve ; See , while you kindly mean to mortify Another , the wild arrow do not fly , And gall yourself . For once you 've been mistaken ; Your shafts have miss 'd their aim — Hogsflesh has saved his Bacon . POEMS . DEDICATIONTO S. T. COLERIDGE , ESQ . My Dear Coleridge , You will smile to see the slender labors of your friend designated by the title of Works ; but such was the wish of the gentlemen who have kindly undertaken the trouble of collecting them , and from their judgment could be no appeal . It would be a kind of disloyalty to offer to any one but yourself a volume containing the early pieces , which were first published among your poems , and were fairly derivatives from you and them . My friend Lloyd and myself came into our first battleunder cover of the greater Ajax . How this association , which shall always be a dear and proud recollection to me , came to be broken ,— who snapped the threefold cord ,— whether yourselfgrew ashamed of your former companions ,— or whethersome ungracious bookseller was author of the separation ,— I cannot tell ;— but wanting the support of your friendly elm ,my vine has , since that time , put forth few or no fruits ; the saphas become , in a manner , dried up and extinct ; and you will find your old associate , in his second volume , dwindled into prose and criticism . Am I right in assuming this as the cause ? or is it that , as years come upon us ,Life itself loses much of its Poetry for us ? we transcribe but what we read in the great volume of Nature ; and , as the characters grow dim , we turn off , and look another way . You yourself write no Christabels , nor Ancient Mariners , now . Some of the Sonnets , which shall be carelessly turned over by the general reader , may happily awaken in you remembrances , which I should be sorry should be ever totally extinct — the memory “ Of summer days and of delightful years — ” even so far back as to those old suppers at our old ... Inn ,— when life was fresh , and topics exhaustless ,— and you first kindled in me , if not the power , yet the love of poetry , and beauty , and kindliness .— “ What words have I heard Spoke at the Mermaid ! ” The world has given you many a shrewd nip and gird since that time , but either my eyes are grown dimmer , or my old friend is the same who stood before me three-and-twenty years ago — his hair a little confessing the hand of Time , but still shrouding the same capacious brain ,— his heart not altered , scarcely where it “ alteration finds . ” One piece , Coleridge , I have ventured to publish in its original form , though I have heard you complain of a certain over-imitation of the antique in the style . If I could see any way of getting rid of the objection , without rewriting it entirely , I would make some sacrifices . But when I wrote John Woodvil , I never proposed to myself any distinct deviation from common English . I had been newly initiated in the writings of our elder dramatists : Beaumont and Fletcher , and Massinger , were then a first love ; and from what I was so freshly conversant in , what wonder if my language imperceptibly took a tinge ? The very time which I had chosen for my story , that which immediately followed the Restoration , seemed to require , in an English play , that the English should be of rather an older cast than that of the precise year in which it happened to be written . I wish it had not some faults , which I can less vindicate than the language . I remain , My dear Coleridge , Yours , With unabated esteem , C. LAMB . POEMS HESTER . When maidens such as Hester die , Their place ye may not well supply , Though ye among a thousand try , With vain endeavor . A month or more hath she been dead , Yet cannot I by force be led To think upon the wormy bed , And her together . A springy motion in her gait , A rising step , did indicate Of pride and joy no common rate , That flush 'd her spirit . I know not by what name beside I shall it call :— if ‘ twas not pride , It was a joy to that allied , She did inherit . Her parents held the Quaker rule , Which doth the human feeling cool , But she was train 'd in Nature 's school , Nature had blest her . A waking eye , a prying mind , A heart that stirs , is hard to bind , A hawk 's keen sight ye cannot blind , Ye could not Hester . My sprightly neighbor ! gone before To that unknown and silent shore , Shall we not meet , as heretofore , Some summer morning , When from thy cheerful eyes a ray Hath struck a bliss upon the day , A bliss that would not go away , A sweet fore-warning ? TO CHARLES LLOYD . AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR . Alone , obscure , without a friend , A cheerless , solitary thing , Why seeks , my Lloyd , the stranger out ? What offering can the stranger bring Of social scenes , home-bred delights , That him in aught compensate may For Stowey 's pleasant winter nights , For loves and friendships far away ? In brief oblivion to forego Friends , such as thine , so justly dear , And be awhile with me content To stay , a kindly loiterer , here : For this a gleam of random joy Hath flush 'd my unaccustom 'd cheek ; And , with an o'ercharged bursting heart , I feel the thanks I cannot speak . Oh ! sweet are all the Muses ’ lays , And sweet the charm of matin bird ; ‘ Twas long since these estrangèd ears The sweeter voice of friend had heard . The voice hath spoke : the pleasant sounds In memory 's ear in after-time Shall live , to sometimes rouse a tear , And sometimes prompt an honest rhyme . For , when the transient charm is fled , And when the little week is o'er , To cheerless , friendless , solitude When I return , as heretofore ; Long , long , within my aching heart The grateful sense shall cherish 'd be ; I 'll think less meanly of myself , That Lloyd will sometimes think on me . THE THREE FRIENDS . Three young maids in friendship met ; Mary , Martha , Margaret . Margaret was tall and fair , Martha shorter by a hair ; If the first excell 'd in feature , Th ’ other 's grace and ease were greater ; Mary , though to rival loth , In their best gifts equall 'd both . They a due proportion kept ; Martha mourn 'd if Margaret wept ; Margaret joy 'd when any good She of Martha understood ; And in sympathy for either Mary was outdone by neither . Thus far , for a happy space , All three ran an equal race , A most constant friendship proving , Equally beloved and loving ; All their wishes , joys , the same ; Sisters only not in name . Fortune upon each one smiled , As upon a fav'rite child ; Well to do and well to see Were the parents of all three ; Till on Martha 's father crosses Brought a flood of worldly losses , And his fortunes rich and great Changed at once to low estate : Under which o'erwhelming blow Martha 's mother was laid low ; She a hapless orphan left , Of maternal care bereft , Trouble following trouble fast , Lay in a sick-bed at last . In the depth of her affliction Martha now receiv 'd conviction , That a true and faithful friend Can the surest comfort lend . Night and day , with friendship tried , Ever constant by her side Was her gentle Mary found , With a love that knew no bound ; And the solace she imparted Saved her dying broken-hearted . In this scene of earthly things Not one good unmixèd springs . That which had to Martha proved A sweet consolation , moved Different feelings of regret In the mind of Margaret . She , whose love was not less dear , Nor affection less sincere To her friend , was , by occasion Of more distant habitation , Fewer visits forced to pay her ; When no other cause did stay her ; And her Mary living nearer , Margaret began to fear her , Lest her visits day by day Martha 's heart should steal away . That whole heart she ill could spare her , Where till now she 'd been a sharer . From this cause with grief she pined , Till at length her health declined . All her cheerful spirits flew , Fast as Martha 's gather 'd new ; And her sickness waxèd sore , Just when Martha felt no more . Mary , who had quick suspicion Of her alter 'd friend 's condition , Seeing Martha 's convalescence Less demanded now her presence , With a goodness , built on reason , Changed her measures with the season ; Turn 'd her steps from Martha 's door , Went where she was wanted more ; All her care and thoughts were set Now to tend on Margaret . Mary living ‘ twixt the two , From her home could oft'ner go , Either of her friends to see , Than they could together be . Truth explain 'd is to suspicion Evermore the best physician . Soon her visits had the effect ; All that Margaret did suspect , From her fancy vanish 'd clean ; She was soon what she had been , And the color she did lack To her faded cheek came back . Wounds which love had made her feel , Love alone had power to heal . Martha , who the frequent visit Now had lost , and sore did miss it , With impatience waxèd cross , Counted Margaret 's gain her loss : All that Mary did confer On her friend , thought due to her . In her girlish bosom rise Little foolish jealousies , Which into such rancor wrought , She one day for Margaret sought ; Finding her by chance alone , She began , with reasons shown , To insinuate a fear Whether Mary was sincere ; Wish 'd that Margaret would take heed Whence her actions did proceed . For herself , she 'd long been minded Not with outsides to be blinded ; All that pity and compassion , She believed was affectation ; In her heart she doubted whether Mary cared a pin for either . She could keep whole weeks at distance , And not know of their existence , While all things remain 'd the same ; But , when some misfortune came , Then she made a great parade Of her sympathy and aid ,— Not that she did really grieve , It was only make-believe , And she cared for nothing , so She might her fine feelings show , And get credit , on her part , For a soft and tender heart . With such speeches , smoothly made , She found methods to persuade MargaretTo believe her reasons just ; Quite destroy 'd that comfort glad , Which in Mary late she had ; Made her , in experience ’ spite , Think her friend a hypocrite , And resolve , with cruel scoff , To renounce and cast her off . See how good turns are rewarded ! She of both is now discarded , Who to both had been so late Their support in low estate , All their comfort , and their stay — Now of both is cast away . But the league her presence cherish 'd , Losing its best prop , soon perish 'd ; She , that was a link to either , To keep them and it together , Being gone , the twoThat were left , soon fell asunder ;— Some civilities were kept , But the heart of friendship slept ; Love with hollow forms was fed , But the life of love lay dead :— A cold intercourse they held , After Mary was expell 'd . Two long years did intervene Since they 'd either of them seen , Or , by letter , any word Of their old companion heard ,— When , upon a day once walking , Of indifferent matters talking , They a female figure met ; Martha said to Margaret , “ That young maid in face does carry A resemblance strong of Mary . ” Margaret , at nearer sight , Own 'd her observation right ; But they did not far proceed Ere they knew ‘ twas she indeed . She — but , ah I how changed they view her From that person which they knew her ! Her fine face disease had scarr 'd , And its matchless beauty marr 'd :— But enough was left to trace Mary 's sweetness — Mary 's grace . When her eye did first behold them , How they blush 'd !— but , when she told them , How on a sick-bed she lay Months , while they had kept away , And had no inquiries made If she were alive or dead ;— How , for want of a true friend , She was brought near to her end , And was like so to have died , With no friend at her bedside ;— How the constant irritation , Caused by fruitless expectation Of their coming , had extended The illness , when she might have mended ,— Then , O then , how did reflection Come on them with recollection ! All that she had done for them , How it did their fault condemn ! But sweet Mary , still the same , Kindly eased them of their shame ; Spoke to them with accents bland , Took them friendly by the hand ; Bound them both with promise fast . Not to speak of troubles past ; Made them on the spot declare A new league of friendship there ; Which , without a word of strife , Lasted thenceforth long as life . Martha now and Margaret Strove who most should pay the debt Which they owed her , nor did vary Ever after from their Mary . TO A RIVER IN WHICH A CHILD WAS DROWNED . Smiling river , smiling river , On thy bosom sunbeams play ; Though they 're fleeting , and retreating , Thou hast more deceit than they . In thy channel , in thy channel , Choked with ooze and grav'lly stones , Deep immersed , and unhearsed , Lies young Edward 's corse : his bones Ever whitening , ever whitening , As thy waves against them dash ; What thy torrent , in the current , Swallow 'd , now it helps to wash . As if senseless , as if senseless Things had feeling in this case ; What so blindly , and unkindly , It destroy 'd , it now does grace . THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES . I have had playmates , I have had companions , In my days of childhood , in my joyful school-days , All , all are gone , the old familiar faces . I have been laughing , I have been carousing , Drinking late , sitting late , with my bosom cronies , All , all are gone , the old familiar faces . I loved a love once , fairest among women ; Closed are her doors on me , I must not see her — All , all are gone , the old familiar faces . I have a friend , a kinder friend has no man ; Like an ingrate , I left my friend abruptly ; Left him , to muse on the old familiar faces . Ghostlike I paced round the haunts of my childhood . Earth seem 'd a desert I was bound to traverse , Seeking to find the old familiar faces . Friend of my bosom , thou more than a brother , Why wert not thou born in my father 's dwelling ? So might we talk of the old familiar faces ,— How some they have died , and some they have left me , And some are taken from me ; all are departed ; All , all are gone , the old familiar faces . HELEN . High-born Helen , round your dwelling These twenty years I 've paced in vain : Haughty beauty , thy lover 's duty Hath been to glory in his pain . High-born Helen , proudly telling Stories of thy cold disdain ; I starve , I die , now you comply , And I no longer can complain . These twenty years I 've lived on tears , Dwelling forever on a frown ; On sighs I 've fed , your scorn my bread ; I perish now you kind are grown . Can I , who loved my beloved But for the scorn “ was in her eye , ” Can I be moved for my beloved , When she “ returns me sigh for sigh ? ” In stately pride , by my bedside , High-born Helen 's portrait 's hung ; Deaf to my praise , my mournful lays Are nightly to the portrait sung . To that I weep , nor ever sleep , Complaining all night long to her — Helen , grown old , no longer cold , Said , “ You to all men I prefer . ” A VISION OF REPENTANCE . I saw a famous fountain , in my dream , Where shady pathways to a valley led ; A weeping willow lay upon that stream , And all around the fountain brink were spread Wide-branching trees , with dark green leaf rich clad , Forming a doubtful twilight — desolate and sad . The place was such , that whoso enter 'd in , Disrobèd was of every earthly thought , And straight became as one that knew not sin , Or to the world 's first innocence was brought ; Enseem 'd it now , he stood on holy ground , In sweet and tender melancholy wrapt around . A most strange calm stole o'er my soothèd sprite ; Long time I stood , and longer had I staid , When lo ! I saw , saw by the sweet moonlight , Which came in silence o'er that silent shade , Where , near the fountain , SOMETHING like DESPAIR Made , of that weeping-willow , garlands for her hair . And eke with painful fingers she inwove Many an uncouth stem of savage thorn — “ The willow garland , that was for her love , And these her bleeding temples would adorn . ” With sighs her heart nigh burst , salt tears fast fell , As mournfully she bended o'er that sacred well . To whom when I addrest myself to speak , She lifted up her eyes , and nothing said ; The delicate red came mantling o'er her cheek , And gath'ring up her loose attire , she fled To the dark covert of that woody shade , And in her goings seem 'd a timid gentle maid . Revolving in my mind what this should mean , And why that lovely lady plainèd so ; Perplex 'd in thought at that mysterious scene , And doubting if ‘ twere best to stay or go , I cast mine eyes in wistful gaze around , When from the shades came slow a small and plaintive sound . “ Psyche am I , who love to dwell In these brown shades , this woody dell , Where never busy mortal came , Till now , to pry upon my shame . “ At thy feet what dost thou see The waters of repentance be , Which , night and day , I must augment With tears , like a true penitent , “ If haply so my day of grace Be not yet past ; and this lone place , O'ershadowy , dark , excludeth hence All thoughts but grief and penitence . ” “ Why dost thou weep , thou gentle maid ! And wherefore in this barren shade Thy hidden thoughts with sorrow feed ? Can thing so fair repentance need ? ” “ O ! I have done a deed of shame , And tainted is my virgin fame , And stain 'd the beauteous maiden white In which my bridal robes were dight . ” “ And who the promised spouse ? declare : And what those bridal garments were . ” “ Severe and saintly righteousness Composed the clear white bridal dress ; JESUS , the Son of Heaven 's high King , Bought with his blood the marriage ring . “ A wretched sinful creature , I Deem 'd lightly of that sacred tie , Gave to a treacherous WORLD my heart , And play 'd the foolish wanton 's part . Soon to these murky shades I came , To hide from the sun 's light my shame . And still I haunt this woody dell , And bathe me in that healing well , Whose waters clear have influence From sin 's foul stains the soul to cleanse ; And , night and day , I them augment , With tears , like a true penitent , Until , due expiation made , And fit atonement fully paid , The Lord and Bridegroom me present , Where in sweet strains of high consent , God 's throne before , the Seraphim Shall chant the ecstatic marriage hymn . ” “ Now Christ restore thee soon ” — I said , And thenceforth all my dream was fled . DIALOGUE BETWEEN A MOTHER AND CHILD . CHILD O Lady , lay your costly robes aside . No longer may you glory in your pride . MOTHER Wherefore to-day art singing in mine ear Sad songs were made so long ago , my dear ? This day I am to be a bride , you know , Why sing sad songs , were made so long ago ? CHILD O mother , lay your costly robes aside , For you may never be another 's bride . That line I learn 'd not in the old sad song . MOTHER I pray thee , pretty one , now hold thy tongue , Play with the bridemaids ; and be glad , my boy , For thou shalt be a second father 's joy . CHILD . One father fondled me upon his knee . One father is enough , alone , for me . QUEEN ORIANA 'S DREAM . On a bank with roses shaded , Whose sweet scent the violets aided , Violets whose breath alone Yields but feeble smell or none ,While o'erhead six slaves did hold Canopy of cloth o ’ gold , And two more did music keep , Which might Juno lull to sleep , Oriana , who was queen To the mighty Tamerlane , That was lord of all the land Between Thrace and Samarchand , While the noontide fervor beam 'd , Mused himself to sleep , and dream 'd . Thus far , in magnific strain , A young poet soothed his vein , But he had nor prose nor numbers , To express a princess ’ slumbers .— Youthful Richard had strange fancies , Was deep versed in old romances , And could talk whole hours upon The Great Cham and Prester John ,— Tell the field in which the Sophi From the Tartar won a trophy — What he read with such delight of , Thought he could as eas'ly write of — But his over-young invention Kept not pace with brave intention . Twenty suns did rise and set , And he could no further get ; But , unable to proceed , Made a virtue out of need , And , his labors wiselier deem 'd of , Did omit what the queen dream 'd of . A BALLAD . NOTING THE DIFFERENCE OF RICH AND POOR , IN THE WAYS OF A RICH NOBLE 'S PALACE AND A POOR WORKHOUSE . To the Tune of the “ Old and Young Courtier . ” In a costly palace Youth goes clad in gold ; In a wretched workhouse Age 's limbs are cold : There they sit , the old men by a shivering fire , Still close and closer cowering , warmth is their desire . In a costly palace , when the brave gallants dine , They have store of good venison , with old canary wine , With singing and music to heighten the cheer ; Coarse bits , with grudging , are the pauper 's best fare . In a costly palace Youth is still carest By a train of attendants which laugh at my young Lord 's jest ; In a wretched workhouse the contrary prevails : Does Age begin to prattle ?— no man heark'neth to his tales . In a costly palace if the child with a pin Do but chance to prick a finger , straight the doctor is called in ; In a wretched workhouse men are left to perish For want of proper cordials , which their old age might cherish . In a costly palace Youth enjoys his lust ; In a wretched workhouse Age , in corners thrust , Thinks upon the former days , when he was well to do , Had children to stand by him , both friends and kinsmen too . In a costly palace Youth his temples hides With a new-devised peruke that reaches to his sides ; In a wretched workhouse Age 's crown is bare , With a few thin locks just to fence out the cold air . In peace , as in war , ‘ tis our young gallants ’ pride , To walk , each one i ’ the streets , with a rapier by his side , That none to do them injury may have pretence ; Wretched Age , in poverty , must brook offence . HYPOCHONDRIACUS . By myself walking , To myself talking , When as I ruminate On my untoward fate , Scarcely seem I Alone sufficiently , Black thoughts continually Crowding my privacy ; They come unbidden , Like foes at a wedding , Thrusting their faces In better guests ’ places , Peevish and malecontent , Clownish , impertinent , Dashing the merriment : So in like fashions Dim cogitations Follow and haunt me , Striving to daunt me , In my heart festering , In my ears whispering , “ Thy friends are treacherous , Thy foes are dangerous , Thy dreams ominous . ” Fierce Anthropophagi , Spectra , Diaboli , What scared St. Anthony , Hobgoblins , Lemures , Dreams of Antipodes , Night-riding Incubi , Troubling the fantasy , All dire illusions Causing confusions ; Figments heretical , Scruples fantastical , Doubts diabolical ; Abaddon vexeth me , Mahu perplexeth me , Lucifer teareth me —— Jesu ! Maria ! liberate nos ab his diris tentationibus Inimici . A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO . May the Babylonish curse Straight confound my stammering verse , If I can a passage see In this word-perplexity , Or a fit expression find , Or a language to my mind ,To take leave of thee , GREAT PLANT ! Or in any terms relate Half my love , or half my hate : For I hate , yet love , thee so , That , whichever thing I show , The plain truth will seem to be A constrain 'd hyperbole , And the passion to proceed More from a mistress than a weed . Sooty retainer to the vine , Bacchus ’ black servant , negro fine ; Sorcerer , that mak'st us dote upon Thy begrimed complexion , And , for thy pernicious sake , More and greater oaths to break Than reclaimèd lovers take ‘ Gainst women : thou thy siege dost lay Much too in the female way , While thou suck'st the lab'ring breath Faster than kisses or than death . Thou in such a cloud dost bind us , That our worst foes cannot find us , And ill-fortune , that would thwart us . Shoots at rovers , shooting at us ; While each man , through thy height'ning steam , Does like a smoking Etna seem , And all about us does expressA Sicilian fruitfulness . Thou through such a mist dost show us , That our best friends do not know us , And , for those allowèd features , Due to reasonable creatures , Liken'st us to fell Chimeras , Monsters that , who see us , fear us ; Worse than Cerberus or Geryon , Or , who first loved a cloud , Ixion . Bacchus we know , and we allow His tipsy rites . But what art thou , That but by reflex canst show What his deity can do , As the false Egyptian spell Aped the true Hebrew miracle Some few vapors thou may'st raise , The weak brain may serve to amaze , But to the reins and nobler heart Canst nor life nor heat impart . Brother of Bacchus , later born , The old world was sure forlorn Wanting thee , that aidest more The god 's victories than before All his panthers , and the brawls Of his piping Bacchanals . These , as stale , we disallow , Or judge of thee meant ; only thou His true Indian conquest art ; And , for ivy round his dart , The reformèd god now weaves A finer thyrsus of thy leaves . Scent to match thy rich perfume Chemic art did ne'er presume Through her quaint alembic strain , None so sov'reign to the brain . Nature , that did in thee excel , Framed again no second smell . Roses , violets , but toys For the smaller sort of boys , Or for greener damsels meant ; Thou art the only manly scent . Stinking'st of the stinking kind , Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind , Africa , that brags her foison , Breeds no such prodigious poison , Henbane , nightshade , both together , Hemlock , aconite —— Nay , rather , Plant divine , of rarest virtue ; Blisters on the tongue would hurt you . ‘ Twas but in a sort I blamed thee : None e'er prosper 'd who defamed thee ; Irony all , and feign 'd abuse , Such as perplex 'd lovers use , At a need , when , in despair To paint forth their fairest fair , Or in part but to express That exceeding comeliness Which their fancies doth so strike , They borrow language of dislike ; And , instead of Dearest Miss , Jewel , Honey , Sweetheart , Bliss , And those forms of old admiring , Call her Cockatrice and Siren , Basilisk , and all that 's evil , Witch , Hyena , Mermaid , Devil , Ethiop , Wench , and Blackamoor , Monkey , Ape , and twenty more ; Friendly Trait'ress , loving Foe ,— Not that she is truly so , But no other way they know A contentment to express , Borders so upon excess , That they do not rightly wot Whether it be pain or not . Or , as men , constrain 'd to part With what 's nearest to their heart , While their sorrow 's at the height , Lose discrimination quite , And their hasty wrath let fall , To appease their frantic gall , On the darling thing whatever , Whence they feel it death to sever , Though it be , as they , perforce , Guiltless of the sad divorce . For I mustleave thee . For thy sake , TOBACCO , I Would do anything but die , And but seek to extend my days Long enough to sing thy praise . But , as she , who once hath been A king 's consort , is a queen Ever after , nor will bate Any tittle of her state , Though a widow , or divorced , So I , from thy converse forced , The old name and style retain , A right Katherine of Spain ; And a seat , too ,' mongst the joys Of the blest Tobacco Boys ; Where , though I , by sour physician , Am debarr 'd the full fruition Of thy favors , I may catch Some collateral sweets , and snatch Sidelong odors , that give life Like glances from a neighbor 's wife ; And still live in the by-places And the suburbs of thy graces ; And in thy borders take delight , An unconquer 'd Canaanite . TO T. L. H . A CHILD . Model of thy parent dear , Serious infant worth a fear : In thy unfaltering visage well Picturing forth the son of TELL , When on his forehead , firm and good , Motionless mark , the apple stood ; Guileless traitor , rebel mild , Convict unconscious , culprit child ! Gates that close with iron roar Have been to thee thy nursery door ; Chains that chink in cheerless cells Have been thy rattles and thy bells ; Walls contrived for giant sin Have hemm 'd thy faultless weakness in ; Near thy sinless bed black Guilt Her discordant house hath built , And fill 'd it with her monstrous brood — Sights , by thee not understood — Sights of fear , and of distress , That pass a harmless infant 's guess But the clouds , that overcast Thy young morning , may not last ; Soon shall arrive the rescuing hour That yields thee up to Nature 's power : Nature , that so late doth greet thee , Shall in o'erflowing measure meet thee . She shall recompense with cost For every lesson thou hast lost . Then wandering up thy sire 's loved hill ,Thou shalt take thy airy fill Of health and pastime . Birds shall sing For thy delight each May morning . ‘ Mid new-yean 'd lambkins thou shalt play , Hardly less a lamb than they . Then thy prison 's lengthen 'd bound Shall be the horizon skirting round : And , while thou fillest thy lap with flowers , To make amends for wintry hours , The breeze , the sunshine , and the place , Shall from thy tender brow efface Each vestige of untimely care , That sour restraint had graven there ; And on thy every look impress A more excelling childishness . So shall be thy days beguiled , THORNTON HUNT , my favorite child .BALLAD . FROM THE GERMAN . The clouds are blackening , the storms threatening , And ever the forest maketh a moan : Billows are breaking , the damsel 's heart acting , Thus by herself she singeth alone , Weeping right plenteously . “ The world is empty , the heart is dead surely , In this world plainly all seemeth amiss : To thy breast , holy one , take now thy little one , I have had earnest of all earth 's bliss , Living right lovingly . ” DAVID IN THE CAVE OF ADULLAM . David and his three captains bold Kept ambush once within a hold . It was in Adullam 's cave , Nigh which no water they could have , Nor spring , nor running brook was near To quench the thirst that parch 'd them there . Then David , king of Israël , Straight bethought him of a well , Which stood beside the city gate , At Bethlem ; where , before his state Of kingly dignity , he had Oft drunk his fill , a shepherd lad ; But now his fierce Philistine foe Encamp 'd before it he does know . Yet ne'er the less , with heat opprest , Those three bold captains he addrest ; And wish 'd that one to him would bring Some water from his native spring . His valiant captains instantly To execute his will did fly . The mighty Three the ranks broke through Of armed foes , and water drew For David , their beloved king , At his own sweet native spring . Back through their arm 'd foes they haste , With the hard-earn 'd treasure graced . But when the good king David found What they had done , he on the ground The water pour 'd ... “ Because , ” said he , “ That it was at the jeopardy Of your three lives this thing ye did , That I should drink it , God forbid . ” SALOME . Once on a charger there was laid , And brought before a royal maid , As price of attitude and grace , A guiltless head , a holy face . It was on Herod 's natal day , Who o'er Judea 's land held sway . He married his own brother 's wife , Wicked Herodias . She the life Of John the Baptist long had sought , Because he openly had taught That she a life unlawful led , Having her husband 's brother wed . This was he , that saintly John , Who in the wilderness alone Abiding , did for clothing wear A garment made of camel 's hair ; Honey and locusts were his food , And he was most severely good . He preachèd penitence and tears , And waking first the sinner 's fears , Prepared a path , made smooth a way , For his diviner Master 's day . Herod kept in princely state His birthday . On his throne he sate , After the feast , beholding her Who danced with grace peculiar ; Fair Salome , who did excel All in that land for dancing well . The feastful monarch 's heart was fired , And whatsoe'er thing she desired , Though half his kingdom it should be , He in his pleasure swore that he Would give the graceful Salome . The damsel was Herodias ’ daughter : She to the queen hastes , and besought her To teach her what great gift to name . Instructed by Herodias , came The damsel back : to Herod said , “ Give me John the Baptist 's head ; And in a charger let it be Hither straightway brought to me . ” Herod her suit would fain deny , But for his oath 's sake must comply . When painters would by art express Beauty in unloveliness , Thee , Herodias ’ daughter , thee , They fittest subject take to be . They give thy form and features grace ; But ever in thy beauteous face They show a steadfast cruel gaze , An eye unpitying ; and amaze In all beholders deep they mark , That thou betrayest not one spark Of feeling for the ruthless deed , That did thy praiseful dance succeed . For on the head they make you look , As if a sullen joy you took , A cruel triumph , wicked pride , That for your sport a saint had died . LINES SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF TWO FEMALES BY LIONARDO DA VINCI . The lady Blanch , regardless of all her lover 's fears , To the Urs'line convent hastens , and long the Abbess hears , “ O Blanch , my child , repent ye of the courtly life ye lead . ” Blanch look 'd on a rose-bud and little seem 'd to heed . She look 'd on the rose-bud , she look 'd round , and thought On all her heart had whisper 'd , and all the Nun had taught . “ I am worshipp 'd by lovers , and brightly shines my fame , All Christendom resoundeth the noble Blanch 's name . Nor shall I quickly wither like the rose-bud from the tree , My queen-like graces shining when my beauty 's gone from me . But when the sculptured marble is rais 'd o'er my head , And the matchless Blanch lies lifeless among the noble dead , This saintly lady Abbess hath made me justly fear , It nothing will avail me that I were worshipp 'd here . ” LINES ON THE SAME PICTURE BEING REMOVED TO MAKE PLACE FOR A PORTRAIT OF A LADY BY TITIAN . Who art thou , fair one , who usurp'st the place Of Blanch , the lady of the matchless grace ? Come , fair and pretty , tell to me , Who , in thy lifetime , thou might'st be . Thou pretty art and fair , But with the lady Blanch thou never must compare . No need for Blanch her history to tell ; Whoever saw her face , they there did read it well . But when I look on thee , I only know There lived a pretty maid some hundred years ago . LINES ON THE CELEBRATED PICTURE BY LIONARDO DA VINCI , CALLED THE VIRGIN OF THE ROCKS . While young John runs to greet The greater Infant 's feet , The Mother standing by , with trembling passion Of devout admiration , Beholds the engaging mystic play , and pretty adoration ; Nor knows as yet the full event Of those so low beginnings , From whence we date our winnings , But wonders at the intent Of those new rites , and what that strange child-worship meant . But at her side An angel doth abide , With such a perfect joy As no dim doubts alloy , An intuition , A glory , an amenity , Passing the dark condition Of blind humanity , As if he surely knew All the blest wonder should ensue , Or he had lately left the upper sphere , And had read all the sovran schemes and divine riddles there . ON THE SAME . Maternal lady with the virgin grace , Heaven-born thy Jesus seemeth sure , And thou a virgin pure . Lady most perfect , when thy sinless face Men look upon , they wish to be A Catholic , Madonna fair , to worship thee . SONNETS . I . TO MISS KELLY . You are not , Kelly , of the common strain , That stoop their pride and female honor down To please that many-headed beast the town , And vend their lavish smiles and tricks for gain ; By fortune thrown amid the actors ’ train , You keep your native dignity of thought ; The plaudits that attend you come unsought , As tributes due unto your natural vein . Your tears have passion in them , and a grace Of genuine freshness , which our hearts avow ; Your smiles are winds whose ways we cannot trace , That vanish and return we know not how — And please the better from a pensive face , A thoughtful eye , and a reflecting brow . II . ON THE SIGHT OF SWANS IN KENSINGTON GARDEN . Queen-bird that sittest on thy shining-nest , And thy young cygnets without sorrow hatchest , And thou , thou other royal bird , that watchest Lest the white mother wandering feet molest : Shrined are your offspring in a crystal cradle , Brighter than Helen 's ere she yet had burst Her shelly prison . They shall be born at first Strong , active , graceful , perfect , swan-like able To tread the land or waters with security . Unlike poor human births , conceived in sin , In grief brought forth , both outwardly and in Confessing weakness , error , and impurity . Did heavenly creatures own succession 's line , The births of heaven like to yours would shine . III . Was it some sweet device of Faëry That mock 'd my steps with many a lonely glade , And fancied wanderings with a fair-hair 'd maid ? Have these things been ? or what rare witchery , Impregning with delights the charmèd air , Enlighted up the semblance of a smile In those fine eyes ? methought they spake the while Soft soothing things , which might enforce despair To drop the murdering knife , and let go by His foul resolve . And does the lonely glade Still court the footsteps of the fair-hair 'd maid ? Still in her locks the gales of summer sigh ? While I forlorn do wander reckless where , And ‘ mid my wanderings meet no Anna there . IV . Methinks how dainty sweet it were , reclined Beneath the vast out-stretching branches high Of some old wood , in careless sort to lie , Nor of the busier scenes we left behind Aught envying . And , O Anna ! mild-eyed maid ! Beloved ! I were well content to play With thy free tresses all a summer 's day , Losing the time beneath the greenwood shade . Or we might sit and tell some tender tale Of faithful vows repaid by cruel scorn , A tale of true love , or of friend forgot ; And I would teach thee , lady , how to rail In gentle sort , on those who practise not Or love or pity , though of woman born . V . When last I roved these winding wood-walks green , Green winding walks , and shady pathways sweet , Oft-times would Anna seek the silent scene , Shrouding her beauties in the lone retreat . No more I hear her footsteps in the shade : Her image only in these pleasant ways Meets me self-wandering , where in happier days I held free converse with the fair-hair 'd maid . I pass 'd the little cottage which she loved , The cottage which did once my all contain ; It spake of days which ne'er must come again , Spake to my heart , and much my heart was moved . “ Now fair befall thee , gentle maid ! ” said I , And from the cottage turn 'd me with a sigh . VI . THE FAMILY NAME . What reason first imposed thee , gentle name , Name that my father bore , and his sire 's sire , Without reproach ? we trace our stream no higher ; And I , a childless man , may end the same . Perchance some shepherd on Lincolnian plains , In manners guileless as his own sweet flocks , Received thee first amid the merry mocks And arch allusions of his fellow swains . Perchance from Salem 's holier fields return 'd , With glory gotten on the heads abhorr 'd Of faithless Saracens , some martial lord Took HIS meek title , in whose zeal he burn 'd , Whate'er the fount whence thy beginnings came , No deed of mine shall shame thee , gentle name . VII . If from my lips some angry accents fell , Peevish complaint , or harsh reproof unkind , ‘ Twas but the error of a sickly mind And troubled thoughts , clouding the purer well , And waters clear , of Reason ; and for me Let this my verse the poor atonement be — My verse , which thou to praise wert ever inclined Too highly , and with a partial eye to see No blemish . Thou to me didst ever show Kindest affection ; and would oft-times lend An ear to the desponding lovesick lay , Weeping my sorrows with me , who repay But ill the mighty debt of love I owe , Mary , to thee , my sister and my friend . VIII . A timid grace sits trembling in her eye , As loath to meet the rudeness of men 's sight , Yet shedding a delicious lunar light , That steeps in kind oblivious ecstasy The care-crazed mind , like some still melody : Speaking most plain the thoughts which do possess Her gentle sprite : peace , and meek quietness , And innocent loves , and maiden purity : A look whereof might heal the cruel smart Of changèd friends , or fortune 's wrongs unkind ; Might to sweet deeds of mercy move the heart Of him who hates his brethren of mankind . Turn 'd are those lights from me , who fondly yet Past joys , vain loves , and buried hopes regret . IX . TO JOHN LAMB , ESQ ., OF THE SOUTH-SEA-HOUSE . John , you were figuring in the gay career Of blooming manhood with a young man 's joy , When I was yet a little peevish boy — Though time has made the difference disappear Betwixt our ages , which then seem 'd so great — And still by rightful custom you retain Much of the old authoritative strain , And keep the elder brother up in state . O ! you do well in this . ‘ Tis man 's worst deed To let the “ things that have been ” run to waste , And in the unmeaning present sink the past : In whose dim glass even now I faintly read Old buried forms , and faces long ago , Which you , and I , and one more , only know . X . O ! I could laugh to hear the midnight wind , That , rushing on its way with careless sweep , Scatters the ocean waves . And I could weep Like to a child . For now to my raised mind On wings of winds comes wild-eyed Fantasy , And her rude visions give severe delight . O wingèd bark ! how swift along the night Pass 'd thy proud keel ! nor shall I let go by Lightly of that drear hour the memory , When wet and chilly on thy deck I stood , Unbonneted , and gazed upon the flood , Even till it seem 'd a pleasant thing to die ,— To be resolv 'd into th ’ elemental wave , Or take my portion with the winds that rave . XI . We were two pretty babes , the youngest she , The youngest , and the loveliest far , I ween , And INNOCENCE her name . The time has been , We two did love each other 's company : Time was , we two had wept to have been apart . But when by show of seeming good beguiled , I left the garb and manners of a child , And my first love for man 's society , Defiling with the world my virgin heart — My loved companion dropp 'd a tear , and fled , And hid in deepest shades her awful head . Beloved , who shall tell me where thou art — In what delicious Eden to be found — That I may seek thee the wide world around ? BLANK VERSE CHILDHOOD . In my poor mind it is most sweet to muse Upon the days gone by ; to act in thought Past seasons o'er , and be again a child ; To sit in fancy on the turf-clad slope , Down which the child would roll ; to pluck gay flowers , Make posies in the sun , which the child 's handWould throw away , and straight take up again , Then fling them to the winds , and o'er the lawn Bound with so playful and so light a foot , That the press 'd daisy scarce declined her head . THE GRANDAME . On the green hill-top , Hard by the house of prayer , a modest roof , And not distinguish 'd from its neighbor-barn , Save by a slender-tapering length of spire , The Grandame sleeps . A plain stone barely tells The name and date to the chance passenger . For lowly born was she , and long had eat , Well-earn 'd , the bread of service :— hers was else A mountain spirit , one that entertain 'd Scorn of base action , deed dishonorable , Or aught unseemly . I remember well Her reverend image ; I remember , too , With what a zeal she served her master 's house ; And how the prattling tongue of garrulous age Delighted to recount the oft-told tale Or anecdote domestic . Wise she was , And wondrous skill 'd in genealogies , And could in apt and voluble terms discourse Of births , of titles , and alliances ; Of marriages , and intermarriages ; Relationship remote , or near of kin ; Of friends offended , family disgraced — Maiden high-born , but wayward , disobeying Parental strict injunction , and regardless Of unmix 'd blood , and ancestry remote , Stooping to wed with one of low degree . But these are not thy praises ; and I wrong Thy honor 'd memory , recording chiefly Things light or trivial . Better ‘ twere to tell , How with a nobler zeal , and warmer love , She served her heavenly Master . I have seen That reverend form bent down with age and pain , And rankling malady . Yet not for this Ceased she to praise her Maker , or withdrew Her trust in Him , her faith , an humble hope — So meekly had she learn 'd to bear her cross — For she had studied patience in the school Of Christ ; much comfort she had thence derived , And was a follower of the NAZARENE . THE SABBATH BELLS . The cheerful Sabbath bells , wherever heard , Strike pleasant on the sense , most like the voice Of one , who from the far-off hills proclaims Tidings of good to Zion : chiefly when Their piercing tones fall sudden on the ear Of the contemplant , solitary man , Whom thoughts abstruse or high have chanced to lure Forth from the walks of men , revolving oft , And oft again , hard matter , which eludes And baffles his pursuit — thought-sick and tired Of controversy , where no end appears , No clue to his research , the lonely man Half wishes for society again . Him , thus engaged , the Sabbath bells salute Sudden ! his heart awakes , his ears drink in The cheering music ; his relenting soul Yearns after all the joys of social life , And softens with the love of human kind . FANCY EMPLOYED ON DIVINE SUBJECTS . The truant Fancy was a wanderer ever , A lone enthusiast maid . She loves to walk In the bright visions of empyreal light , By the green pastures , and the fragrant meads , Where the perpetual flowers of Eden blow ; By crystal streams , and by the living waters , Along whose margin grows the wondrous tree Whose leaves shall heal the nations ; underneath Whose holy shade a refuge shall be found From pain and want , and all the ills that wait On mortal life , from sin and death forever . COMPOSED AT MIDNIGHT . From broken visions of perturbèd rest I wake , and start , and fear to sleep again . How total a privation of all sounds , Sights , and familiar objects , man , bird , beast , Herb , tree , or flower , and prodigal light of heaven . ‘ Twere some relief to catch the drowsy cry Of the mechanic watchman , or the noise Of revel reeling home from midnight cups . Those are the meanings of the dying man , Who lies in the upper chamber ; restless moans , And interrupted only by a cough Consumptive , torturing the wasted lungs . So in the bitterness of death he lies , And waits in anguish for the morning 's light . What can that do for him , or what restore ? Short taste , faint sense , affecting notices . And little images of pleasures past , Of health , and active life — health not yet slain , Nor the other grace of life , a good name , sold For sin 's black wages . On his tedious bed He writhes , and turns him from the accusing light , And finds no comfort in the sun , but says “ When night comes I shall get a little rest . ” Some few groans more , death comes , and there an end . ‘ Tis darkness and conjecture all beyond ; Weak Nature fears , though Charity must hope , And Fancy , most licentious on such themes Where decent reverence well had kept her mute , Hath o'erstock ' d hell with devils , and brought down By her enormous fablings and mad lies , Discredit on the gospel 's serious truths And salutary fears . The man of parts , Poet , or prose declaimer , on his couch Lolling , like one indifferent , fabricates A heaven of gold , where he , and such as he , Their heads encompassed with crowns , their heels With fine wings garlanded , shall tread the stars Beneath their feet , heaven 's pavement , far removed From damnèd spirits , and the torturing cries Of men , his breth'ren , fashion 'd of the earth , As he was , nourish 'd with the self-same bread , Belike his kindred or companions once — Through everlasting ages now divorced , In chains and savage torments to repent Short years of folly on earth . Their groans unheard In heav'n , the saint nor pity feels , nor care , For those thus sentenced — pity might disturb The delicate sense and most divine repose Of spirits angelical . Blessed be God , The measure of his judgments is not fix 'd By man 's erroneous standard . He discerns No such inordinate difference and vast Betwixt the sinner and the saint , to doom Such disproportion 'd fates . Compared with him , No man on earth is holy call 'd : they best Stand in his sight approved , who at his feet Their little crowns of virtue cast , and yield To him of his own works the praise , his due . A TRAGEDY . CHARACTERS . SIR WALTER WOODVIL . JOHN , } SIMON , } his sons . LOVELL , } GRAY , } Pretended friends of John . SELBY , A Wiltshire Gentleman . KATHERINE , Wife to Selby . LUCY , Sister to Selby . MRS. FRAMPTON , A Widow . SERVANTS . SCENE — At Mr. Selby 's House , or in the grounds adjacent . SCENE — A Library . MR. SELBY . KATHERINE .