Thus he, for many a night and day,
In strict, prescriptive silence lay,
For he all talking was forbid
No friends must visit, if they did,
All Galen's efforts would be vain
For the re-settling of his brain;
And when acquaintance chanc'd to come
It must be said, "He's not at home:"
Nay, his kind friends, when it appear'd,
That e'en his life was rather fear'd,
And that his hospitable fare
Might quickly vanish into air:
Though as the knocker still was tied,
They just ask'd if he liv'd or died.
But other reasons soon prevail
That made his vain pretensions fail
To ask them now and then to dine,
And prove their welcome by his wine.
For when they left him others came,
More constant in their wish and aim;
Who, while the Doctor order'd pills,
Would call, perhaps, to leave their bills;
And sometimes in the way of trade
Might ask the favour to be paid.
These things, as he lay still in bed,
Would sometimes tease his shaken head, |
And force him to consult his hoard,
To know what hopes that might afford
When he to health should be restor'd. | } |
—That time arriv'd and he was free
From offering another fee,
But then he found more clumsy hands
Ready to grasp enlarg'd demands.
—In all the playgames he had sought
He found, at last, as might be thought,
In worst of scrapes he now was left,
Our 'Squire, alas, was deep in debt,
And which was worse, of the amount,
He could not pay the full account:
Nor were his drooping spirits cheer'd
When ev'ry day a Dun appear'd.
There were no frolics now to charm
The mind from feeling the alarm,
At thought so painful to endure
Th' afflicting thought of being poor.
But though Discretion oft had fail'd him,
And Folly's Gim-crack schemes assail'd him
Though his whole conduct might not bear
The scrutinizing eye severe:
Yet honour was not dispossest
Of a snug corner in his breast,
Which there an influence did maintain,
And, call'd to speak, spoke not in vain;
For he refus'd, at once, to hear
What smiling Knaves pour'd in his ear,
To scrape the relics of his hoard,
Make a long skip and get abroad;
Seize the first favourable wind,
And laugh at those he left behind.
—The counsel given, was given in vain;
He met it with a just disdain,
Bore with mild humour each sly sneer,
And smil'd when Folly chose to jeer;
Resolv'd to pay to his last groat,
Though standing in his only coat.
—'Twas thus he thought in temper cool,
"I may be call'd vain, silly fool,
And something more I might deserve,
But I would dig or almost starve,
Rather than in that concert join,
Which sprightly vagabonds design."
—Suspicion may be sometimes led
To doubt the vows which, on the bed |
Of pain and sickness, may be made,
When, by a trait'rous world betray'd
Hope's future prospects sink and fade. | } |
For when Contrition views the past,
Because the passing day's o'ercast
Yet does no more its place retain
When smiling hours return again,
'Tis but an hypocritic art
To mock the world and cheat the heart.
But our sick Hero, as the verse
Will, with unvarnish'd truth, rehearse, |
An eye of tearful sorrow threw
O'er some past years' reproachful view,
And trembling at the future too. | } |
Thus, of some awkward fears possess'd,
He held a council in his breast,
And felt the way to be pursued
Was now to do the best he could,
And call on Justice to receive
The only tribute he could give. |
| |
Thus, at once, honest and discreet,
He call'd his Creditors to meet
To hear proposals which he thought
They would receive as just men ought:
Nay, fancied, when he told his tale,
That lib'ral notions would prevail;
Nor could his gen'rous mind foresee
The fruits of his integrity:
For when he walk'd into the room
He found th' invited guests were come,
Who soon began in hideous measure,
To play away their loud displeasure,
Not unlike Andrews at a fair
Who to make gaping rustics stare,
Expand their lanky, lanthern jaws
That fire may issue from their maws.
One darted forth revengeful looks,
Another pointed to his books |
Wherein a charge was never made,
That did not honour to his trade;
And curs'd th' accounts which were not paid, | } |
Nor fail'd to wish he could convey them,
We'll not say where, who did not pay them.
A third, as hard as he was able,
Struck his huge fist upon the table.
While, beastly names from many a tongue,
Around the room resounding rung.
As Freeborn had not quite possest
The hope that he should be carest,
He rather look'd with down-cast eye,
To win by his humility,
And put on a repentant face
As suited to the awkward place:
Nay, his high spirits he prepar'd
And call'd discretion for their guard
In case, though it was not expected,
Decorum should be quite neglected:— |
But when the Butcher strok'd his sleeve,
Brandish'd his steel and call'd him thief,
Belching forth mutton, veal and beef; | } |
When touch'd by such a market sample
They join'd to follow his example; |
When stead of praise for honest doing
And the fair course he was pursuing
They loos'd their banter on his ruin; | } |
His prudence then was thrown aside
From sense of irritated pride,
And, patient bearing quite exhausted,
He thus the angry circle roasted.—
"You all in your abuse may shine,
But know—Abuse will never coin!
Remember you have had my trade,
For some few years, and always paid;
While for your charges you must own,
I let them pass, nor cut them down,
And Customers, such fools like me
Are Prizes in your Lottery.
Put but your loss and gain together,
I should deserve your favour, rather
Than this rude and unseemly treating,
As if I gain'd my bread by cheating.
You know, you set of thankless calves,
You are well paid if paid by halves;
And spite of knowing nods and blinking,
I have been told, and can't help thinking,
All that now may remain to pay
The claims which bring me here to-day,
A just Arithmetic would tell
Will pay your honours very well!
But I have done—nay, I shall burst
If I say more——so do your worst.——" |
