And he was kind, and loved to sit In the low hut or garnished cottage, And praise the farmer's homely wit, And share the widow's homelier pottage: At his approach complaint grew mild, And when his hand unbarred the shutter, The clammy lips of Fever smiled The welcome which they could not utter. He always had a tale for me Of Julius Cæsar or of Venus: From him I learned the rule of three, Cat's cradle, leap-frog, and Quæ genus; I used to singe his powdered wig, To steal the staff he put such trust in; And make the puppy dance a jig When he began to quote Augustin. Alack the change! in vain I look For haunts in which my boyhood trifled; The level lawn, the trickling brook, The trees I climbed, the beds I rifled: The church is larger than before; Sit in the Vicar's seat: you'll hear The doctrine of a gentle Johnian, Whose hand is white, whose tone is clear, Whose tone is very Ciceronian. ་ Where is the old man laid?-look down, VIR NULLA NON DONANDUs laura. II.-QUINCE. Fallentis semita vitæ. Horace. NEAR a small village in the West, A tenement of brick and plaster, Of which, for forty years and four, My good friend Quince was lord and master! Welcome was he in hut and hall, To maids and matrons, peers He won the sympathies of all, and peasants, By making puns and making presents; Though all the parish was at strife, He kept his counsel and his carriage, And laughed and loved a quiet life, And shrank from Chancery's suits and marriage. Sound was his claret and his head; Warm was his double ale and feelings- That he was faultless in his dealings— And liked to see his friends around him. Asylums, hospitals, and schools, He used to swear were made to cozen; All who subscribed to them were fools, And he subscribed to half a dozen; It was his doctrine that the poor Were always able, never willing; And so the beggar at the door Had first abuse, and then a shilling. Some public principles he had, But was no flatterer, nor fretter; He rapped his box when things were bad, And said, "I cannot make them better!" And much he loathed the patriot's snort, And much he scorned the placeman's shuffle, And cut the fiercest quarrels short, With "Patience, gentlemen, and shuffle." For full ten years his pointer, Speed, Had couched beneath his master's table; For twice ten years his old white steed Had fattened in his master's stable Old Quince averred, upon his troth, They were the ugliest beasts in Devon; And none knew why he fed them both, With his own hands, six days in seven. Whene'er they heard his ring or knock, Quicker than thought, the village slatterns Flung down the novel, smoothed the frock, And took up Mrs. Glasse, and patterns; Adine was studying baker's bills; Louisa looked the queen of knitters; Jane happened to be hemming frills; And Bell, by chance, was making fritters. But all was vain; and while decay Came like a tranquil moonlight o'er him, And found him gouty still, and gay, With no fair nurse to bless or bore him ; His rugged smile, and easy chair, His dread of matrimonial lectures, His wig, his stick, his powdered hair, Were themes for very strange conjectures. Some sages thought the stars above Had crazed him with excess of knowledge; Some heard he had been crossed in love, Before he came away from collegeSome darkly hinted that his grace Did nothing, great or small, without him, Some whispered with a solemn face, That there was something odd about him! I found him at threescore and ten, A single man, but bent quite double, Sickness was coming on him then, To take him from a world of troubleHe prosed of sliding down the hill, Discovered he grew older daily; One frosty day he made his will— The next he sent for Dr. Bailey! And so he lived-and so he died :- Tell her I hugged her rosy chain While life was flickering in the socket: And say, that when I call again, I'll bring a license in my pocket. "I've left my house and grounds to Fag(I hope his master's shoes will suit him ;) And I've bequeathed to you my nag, To feed him for my sake-or shoot him. The Vicar's wife will take old Fox She'll find him an uncommon mouser; And let her husband have my box, My Bible, and my Assmanshauser. "Whether I ought to die or not My doctors cannot quite determine; It's only clear that I shall rot, And be, like Priam, food for vermin. |