NATHANIEL. What makes her sit there moping by herself. With no soul near her but that great black cat? And do but look at her! CURATE. Poor wretch; half blind And crooked with her years, without a child Or friend in her old age, 'tis hard indeed To have her very miseries made her crimes! I met her but last week in that hard frost Which made my young limbs ache, and when I ask'd What brought her out in the snow, the poor old woman Told me that she was forced to crawl abroad And pick the hedges, just to keep herself From perishing with cold,.. because no neighbour Had pity on her age: and then she cried, And said the children pelted her with snow-balls, And wish'd that she were dead. FATHER. I wish she was! She has plagued the parish long enough! CURATE. Shame, Farmer! That Curate, Nat, of ours, to go and visit NATHANIEL. And so old Margery's dying! Is that the charity your Bible teaches ? FATHER. My Bible does not teach me to love witches. I know what's charity; who pays his tithes And poor-rates readier? FATHER. But you know She may recover: so drive t'other nail in. Westbury, 1798. CURATE. Who can better do it? You've been a prudent and industrious man, And God has blest your labour. FATHER. VI. THE RUINED COTTAGE. Ay, Charles! I knew that this would fix thine eye; .. Why, thank God, Sir, This woodbine wreathing round the broken porch. I've had no reason to complain of fortune. Its leaves just withering, yet one autumn flower I led thee here, Charles, not without design; for this hath been How with the villagers Erminia dwelt, P Forsook his quest to learn the shepherd's lore, Led Pastorella home. There was not then The garden-wall; but sweet-briar, scenting sweet All wholesome herbs; and then, that woodbine wreathed So lavishly around the pillar'd porch Its fragrant flowers, that when I pass'd this way, I could not chuse but pass with slacken'd speed A widow here Dwelt with an orphan grandchild: just removed She lived on some small pittance which sufficed, And spinning in the sun. Methinks I see her To twirl her lengthening thread; or in the garden, On some dry summer evening, walking round To some carnation whose o'erheavy head Charles, it seems As though I were a boy again, and all curls; And then her cheek! it was a red and white The Sabbath-day; and many a time hath cross'd One only care Hung on her aged spirit. For herself, One summer, Charles, when at the holidays My old accustom'd walks, and found in them Had play'd the wanton, and that blow had reach'd I pass this ruin'd dwelling oftentimes, A transient sadness; but the feelings, Charles, Westbury, 1799. VII. THE LAST OF THE FAMILY. JAMES. WHAT, Gregory, you are come, I see, to join us On this sad business. GREGORY. Ay, James, I am come, But with a heavy heart, God knows it, man! Where shall we meet the corpse? JAMES. Some hour from hence; By noon, and near about the elms, I take it. This is not as it should be, Gregory, Old men to follow young ones to the grave! This morning when I heard the bell strike out, I thought that I had never heard it toll So dismally before. GREGORY. Well, well! my friend, "Tis what we all must come to, soon or late. But when a young man dies, in the prime of life, One born so well, who might have blest us all Many long years!.. JAMES. And then the family Extinguish'd in him, and the good old name Only to be remember'd on a tomb-stone ! A name that has gone down from sire to son So many generations!... Many a time Poor master Edward, who is now a corpse, When but a child, would come to me and lead me Of Eustace, he that went to the Holy Land To hear of their brave deeds! I used to think Such a fine, generous, open-hearted Youth! JAMES. Changed! why, Gregory, 'Twas like a palsy to me, when he stepp'd Out of the carriage. He was grown so thin, GREGORY. It struck a damp On all our merriment. "Twas a noble Ox That smoked before us, and the old October Went merrily in overflowing cans; But 'twas a skin-deep merriment. My heart JAMES. I fear'd it then! He look'd to me as one that was not long For this world's business. GREGORY. When the Doctor sent him Abroad to try the air, it made me certain That all was over. There's but little hope, Methinks, that foreign parts can help a man When his own mother-country will not do. The last time he came down, these bells rung so I thought they would have rock'd the old steeple down; And now that dismal toll! I would have staid Beyond its reach, but this was a last duty: I am an old tenant of the family, Born on the estate, and now that I've outlived it, 'Tis hid behind them now. GREGORY. Ay! now we see it, And there's the coaches following, we shall meet About the bridge. Would that this day were over! I wonder whose turn's next. JAMES. God above knows. When youth is summon'd what must age expect! God make us ready, Gregory, when it comes ! Westbury, 1799. Why for that Why, Sir, for that I've had my share; some sickness and some sorrow; Well will it be for them to know no worse. He always was a well-conditioned lad, TRAVELLER. Then is the girl A shrew, or else untidy?.. one to welcome Her husband with a rude unruly tongue? Or drive him from a foul and wretched home To look elsewhere for comfort? Is it so? WOMAN. She's notable enough; and as for temper TRAVELLER. Why Mistress, if they both are well inclined, Why should not both be happy? Yet I had rather hear a daughter's knell Than her wedding-peal, Sir, if I thought her fate Promised no better things. TRAVELLER. Sure, sure, good woman, You look upon the world with jaundiced eyes! All have their cares; those who are poor want wealth, They who have wealth want more; so are we all Dissatisfied, yet all live on, and each Has his own comforts. WOMAN, Sir! d'ye see that horse Turn'd out to common here by the way-side? He's high in bone, you may tell every rib Even at this distance. Mind him! how he turns His head, to drive away the flies that feed On his gall'd shoulder! There's just grass enough To disappoint his whetted appetite. You see his comforts, Sir! TRAVELLER. A wretched beast! Hard labour and worse usage he endures 1 Ay! idleness! the rich folks never fail For growing wants?.. Six years agone, these bells Lay down without one thought to keep me sleepless When first I heard his death, that very wish Leapt to my lips; but now the closing scene Of the comedy hath waken'd wiser thoughts; And I bless God, that, when I go to the grave, There will not be the weight of wealth like his To sink me down. STRANGER. The camel and the needle,... Is that then in your mind? watches gradually disappeared, and their Sunday's clothes became common without any other to supply their place,.. but," said he, "some good comes from this, for they will then work for whatever they can get." Note to Cottle's Malvern Hills. |