To footh their honeft pride, that fcorns to beg;
Nor comfort elfe, but in their mutual love.
I praise you much, ye meek and patient pair,
For ye are worthy; chufing rather far
A dry but independent cruft, hard earn'd,
And eaten with a figh, than to endure
The rugged frowns and infolent rebuffs
Of knaves in office, partial in the work
Of diftribution; lib'ral of their aid
To clam'rous importunity in rags,
But oft-times deaf to fuppliants, who would blufh
To wear a tatter'd garb however coarse,
Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth;
Thefe afk with painful fhynefs, and refus'd
Becaufe deferving, filently retire.
But be ye of good courage. Time itself
Shall much befriend you. Time fhall give increase,
And all your num'rous progeny, well-train'd
But helpless, in few years fhall find their hands,
And labor too. Meanwhile ye shall not want
What, conscious of your virtues, we can spare,
Nor what a wealthier than ourselves may fend.
I mean the man, who, when the distant poor
Need help, denies them nothing but his name.
But poverty, with moft who whimper forth
Their long complaints, is felf-inflicted woe;
Th' effect of lazinefs or fottish waste.
Now goes the nightly thief prowling abroad
For plunder; much folicitous how best
He may compenfate for a day of floth,
By works of darknefs and nocturnal wrong.
Woe to the gard'ner's pale, the farmer's hedge
Plash'd neatly, and fecur'd with driven stakes
Deep in the loamy bank. Uptorn by strength,
Refistless in fo bad a cause, but lame
To better deeds, he bundles up the spoil,
An afs's burthen, and, whẹn laden moft
And heavieft, light of foot steals faft away.
Nor does the boarded hovel better guard
The well-ftack'd pile of riven logs and roots
From his pernicious force. Nor will he leave
Unwrench'd the door, however well fecur'd,
Where chanticleer amidst his haram sleeps
In unfufpecting pomp. Twitch'd from the perch,
He gives the princely bird, with all his wives,
To his voracious bag, struggling in vain,
And loudly wond'ring at the fudden change.
Nor this to feed his own. 'Twere fome excuse
Did pity of their fufferings warp afide
His principle, and tempt him into fin
For their fupport, fo deftitute. But they
Neglected pine at home, themselves, as more
Expos'd than others, with lefs fcruple made
His victims, robb'd of their defenceless all.
Cruel is all he does. 'Tis quenchless thirst
Of ruinous ebriety that prompts
His ev'ry action, and imbrutes the man.
Oh for a law to noofe the villain's neck
Who ftarves his own; who perfecutes the blood
gave them, in his children's veins, and hates And wrongs the woman he has fworn to love.
Pass where we may, through city or through town, Village or hamlet of this merry land,
Though lean and beggar'd, ev'ry twentieth pace
Conducts th' unguarded nofe to fuch a whiff
Of ftale debauch, forth-iffuing from the styes
That law has licens'd, as makes temp'rance reel.
There fit, involv'd and lost in curling clouds
Of Indian fume, and guzzling deep, the boor,
The lackey, and the groom: the craftsman there
Takes a Lethean leave of all his toil
Smith, cobbler, joiner, he that plies the sheers,
And he that kneads the dough; all loud alike,
All learned, and all drunk. The fiddle fcreams
Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and wail'd
Its wafted tones and harmony unheard:
Fierce the difpute, whate'er the theme; while she,
Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate,
Perch'd on the fign-poft, holds with even hand
Her undecifive fcales. In this fhe lays
A weight of ignorance, in that, of pride.
And smiles delighted with th' eternal poise.
Dire is the frequent curfe, and its twin found
The cheek-diftending oath, not to be prais'd
As ornamental, musical, polite,
Like those which modern fenators employ,
Whofe oath is rhet'ric, and who fwear for fame.
Behold the schools in which plebeian minds,
Once fimple, are initiated in arts,
Which fome may practife with politer grace,
But none with readier fkill! 'tis here they learn The road that leads, from competence and peace To indigence and rapine; till at last
Society, grown weary of the load,
Shakes her incumber'd lap, and cafts them out. But cenfure profits little vain th' attempt
To advertise in verfe a public peft,
That, like the filth with which the peafant feeds
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