But view them closer, craft and fraud appear, At gold's superior charms all freedom flies, War in each breast, and freedom on each brow; Britain.. Fir'd at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, Pride Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, True to imagin'd right, above controul, While e'en the peasant boasts these rights to scan, And learns to venerate himself as man. GOLDSMITH. A Description of a Parish Poor House.. Their's is yon house that holds the parish poor, Whose walls of mud scarce bear the broken door; There, where the putrid vapours flagging play, And the dull wheel hums doleful through the day; There children dwell who know no parent's care; Parents, who know no children's love, dwell there; Heart-broken matrons on their joyless bed, And crippled age with more than childhood fears! The moping ideot, and the madman gay. Here Here too the sick their final doom receive, Here brought, amid the scenes of grief, to grieve; Where the loud groans from some sad chamber flow, Mix'd with the clamours of the crowd below; And strong compulsion plucks the scrap from pride; But still that scrap is bought with many a sigh, Say ye, oppress'd by some fantastic woes, Who with sad prayers the weary doctor teaze To name the nameless ever-new disease; 』 Who with mock patience dire complaints endure, How would ye bear to draw your latest breath, for death. Such is that room which one rude beam divides, And naked rafters form the sloping sides; Where the vile bands that bind the thatch are seen, And lath and mud are all that lie between; Save one dull pane, that coarsely patch'd, gives To the rude tempest, yet excludes the day: Here, on a matted flock, with dust o'erspread, CRABBE, A Country Apothecary. But soon a loud and hasty summons calls, Shakes the thin roof, and echoes round the walls; Anon a figure enters, quaintly neat, All pride and bus'ness, bustle and conceit; With looks unalter'd by these scenes of woe; With speed that, entering, speaks his haste to go; He bids the gazing throng arcund him fly, And carries fate and physic in his eye; A potent A potent quack, long vers'd in human ills, A Country Clergyman visiting the sick. But ere his death some pious doubts arise, Some simple fears which bold bad men despise; Fain would he ask the parish priest to prove His title certain to the joys above; For this he sends the murmuring nurse, who calls And doth not he, the pious man, appear, |