Who comes?—Approach!—‘Tis kindly done:—
My learn’d Physician, and a Friend,
Their Pleasures quit, to visit One,
Who cannot to their Ease attend,
Nor Joys bestow, nor Comforts lend,
As when I liv’d so blest, so well,
And dream’d not, I must soon contend
With those malignant Powers of Hell.
PHYSICIAN.
“Less warmth, Sir Eustace, or we go.”—
PATIENT.
See! I am calm as Infant-Love,
A very Child, but one of Woe,
Whom you should pity, not reprove:—
But Men at ease, who never strove
With Passions wild, will calmly show,
How soon we may their Ills remove,
And Masters of their Madness grow.
Some twenty Years I think are gone,—
(Time flies, I know not how, away,)
The Sun upon no happier shone,
Nor prouder Man, than Eustace Grey.
Ask where you would, and all would say,
The Man admir’d and prais’d of all,
By Rich and Poor, by Grave and Gay,
Was the young Lord of Greyling Hall.
Yes! I had Youth and rosy Health;
Was nobly form’d, as Man might be;
For Sickness then, of all my Wealth,
I never gave a single Fee:
The Ladies fair, the Maidens free,
Were all accustom’d then to say,
Who would an handsome Figure see,
Should look upon Sir Eustace Grey.
He had a frank and pleasant Look,
A cheerful Eye and Accent bland;
His very Speech and Manner spoke
The generous Heart, the open Hand;
About him all was gay or grand,
He had the Praise of Great and Small;
He bought, improv’d, projected, plann’d,
And reign’d a Prince at Greyling Hall.
My Lady!—she was all we love;
All Praise (to speak her Worth) is faint;
Her Manners shew’d the yielding Dove,
Her Morals, the seraphic Saint;
She never breath’d nor look’d Complaint,
No Equal upon Earth had she:—-
Now, what is this fair Thing I paint?
Alas! as all that live, shall be.
There was beside, a gallant Youth,
And him my Bosom’s Friend, I had:—-
Oh!I was rich—in very truth,
It made me proud—it made me mad!—
Yes I was lost—but there was Cause!——
Where stood my Tale?—I cannot find—
But I had all Mankind’s Applause,
And all the Smiles of Womankind.
There were two Cherub-things beside,
A gracious Girl, a glorious Boy;
Yet more to swell my full-blown Pride,
To varnish higher my fading Joy,
Pleasures were ours without alloy,
Nay Paradise,—- till my frail Eve
Our Bliss was tempted to destroy;
Deceiv’d and fated to deceive.
But I deserv’d; for all that time,
When I was lov’d, admir’d, caress’d,
There was within, each secret Crime,
Unfelt, uncancell’d, unconfess’d;
I never then my God address’d,
In grateful Praise or humble Prayer;
And if His Word was not my Jest!
(Dread thought!) it never was my Care.