At length, wheel'd forth in easy chair,
His sole delight was to repair
To a small, shaded inn, that stood
Contiguous to the turnpike-road:
There he could eat, and drink, and smoke,
And with the merry curate joke:
For though so chang'd in form and feature,
He still retain'd his pleasant nature:
And, as he took his brimming glass,
Was pleas'd to see the coaches pass:
Nor did he hesitate to own
He envied those who went to town,
And long'd to be at Islington.
'Nay, there I'll go once more,' he said,
'But that won't be till I am dead:
For wheresoe'er fat Tom shall die,
At Islington his bones shall lie.
There, where, when I was young and poor,
I smok'd my pipe at ale-house door;
And now, nor can I Fortune blame,
When old and rich, I do the same;
And all the good that pass'd between,
Will be as if it ne'er had been.
But still, I trust, whene'er it ends,
Death and Tom Higgins will be friends.'
He spoke, and straight a gentle sleep
Did o'er his yielding senses creep.
The pipe's last ling'ring whiff was o'er,
The hand could hold the tube no more;
It fell, unheeded, on the floor.
Death then appear'd, with gentle tread;
Just show'd his dart, and whisp'ring said,
'Spirits, to your protection take him:
For nothing in this world can wake him.'
Plate 6. The Shipwreck.
The dangers of the ocean o'er
Death wrecks the sailors on the shore.
The good ship is sunk in the deep; all is lost; a few fragments of a longboat are thrown upon the beach; the coast is rocky and inaccessible; two exhausted and starving mariners, the remnant of the crew, are the sole survivors, and they have only escaped the dangers of the deep to face a more lingering fate from exposure and want. They are cast down without strength to assist themselves, or encouragement to prolong their miserable existence. Seated on a rock before them, confronting their blank, hopeless, starved faces, sits the grim foe, from whose clutches by sea they have barely escaped. Death in this case is merciful, for he is welcomed as the deliverer. Cries Joe:
'Come, Death, and ease me of my pain,
Oh plunge me in the stormy main:
Hear my last prayer, and be my friend:
Thus let my life and suff'rings end!'
He spoke; and lo! before him sat
The summon'd messenger of fate.
'Ah! thou art there (the seaman said),
I know thee well—but who's afraid?
I fear'd thee not, when, at my gun,
I've seen the mischief thou hast done!
Upon the deck, from helm to prow,
Nor, old one, do I fear thee now;
But yield me in thy friendly power,
And welcome this my final hour.'
Death wav'd his arm:—with furious shock,
The billows dash'd against the rock!
Then, with returning force, they bore
The helpless victims from the shore:
There sinking, 'neath the foaming wave—
The sailors found—the sailor's grave.
Plate 7. The Virago.
Her tongue and temper to subdue
Can only be performed by you.
Death is shown, in another plate, as the advocate of peace. It is night, and roysterers are staggering home, assisted by friends, or plundered by the harpies of darkness, according to their fortune. The watch is calling the hour, when good souls should sleep in peace. A fury of an old wife, kicking, fuming, and tearing, is considerately taken in hand by Death, the most effective tranquillising agent; her husband is bowing and lighting his reviling spouse, and her trusty keeper, to the door, while she is vainly screaming for the assistance of the watch. Her departure is viewed with rejoicing.
Her husband follow'd to the gate
Submissive to the will of fate.
'Farewell (he cried), my dearest dear!
As I no more shall see you here,
To my fond wish it may be given
That we may meet again in Heaven;
And since your daily clamours cease,
On earth I hope to live in peace.
Death, far away, my cares has carried.
Molly,—to-morrow we'll be married!'