Such is that ancient burgess, whom in vain
Would gout and fever on his couch detain;
And that large lady, who resolves to come,
Though a first fit has warn'd her of her doom!
These are as oracles: in every cause

They settle doubts, and their decrees are laws;
But all are troubled, when, with dubious look,
Diana questions what Apollo spoke.

Here avarice first, the keen desire of gain,
Rules in each heart, and works in every brain;
Alike the veteran-dames and virgins feel,

Nor care what greybeards or what striplings deal;
Sex, age, and station, vanish from their view,
And gold, their sov'reign good, the mingled crowd

Hence they are jealous, and as rivals, keep A watchful eye on the beloved heap; Meantime discretion bids the tongue be still, And mild good-humour strives with strong ill-will Till prudence fails; when, all impatient grown, They make their grief, by their suspicions, known. "Sir, I protest, were Job himself at play, "He'd rave to see you throw your cards away; "Not that I care a button-not a pin "For what I lose; but we had cards to win : "A saint in heaven would grieve to see such hand "Cut up by one who will not understand."

"Complain of me! and so you might indeed "If I had ventured on that foolish lead, "That fatal heart-but I forgot your play"Some folk have ever thrown their hearts away." "Yes, and their diamonds; I have heard of one "Who made a beggar of an only son."

"Better a beggar, than to see him tied "To art and spite, to insolence and pride." "Sir, were I you, I'd strive to be polite, 66 Against my nature, for a single night." "So did you strive, and, madam! with success; "I knew no being we could censure less!" 3

5

Is this too much? alas! my peaceful Muse Cannot with half their virulence abuse.* And hark! at other tables discord reigns, With feign'd contempt for losses and for gains; Passions awhile are bridled; then they rage, In waspish youth, and in resentful age; With scraps of insult-" Sir, when next you play, "Reflect whose money 't is you throw away. "No one on earth can less such things regard, "But when one's partner doesn't know a card"I scorn suspicion, ma'am, but while you stand “Behind that lady, pray keep down your hand.”

3 [Original edition :

"Against this nature they might show their skill

With small success, who 're maids against their will."] 4["The common humour of all gamesters is, whilst they win, to be always jovial, merry, good-natured, and free; but, on the contrary, if they lose even the smallest trifle, a single hit at backgammon, or a dealing at cards for twopence a game, they are so choleric and testy, that they frequently break into violent passions, utter the most impious oaths and horrid imprecations, and become so mad that no man dare speak to them. But, alas! they have in general, especially if their stakes be large and excessive, more occasion to regret their winning than losing: for, as Seneca truly observes, their gains are not munera fortunæ, sed insidiæ;' not fortune's gifts, but misfortune's baits to lead them on to their common catastrophe, beggary and ruin."-BURTON.].

5 It is probable, that really polite people, with cultivated

Next is the Club, where to their friends in town Our country neighbours once a month come down; We term it Free-and-Easy, and yet we Find it no easy matter to be free:

E'en in our small assembly, friends among,
Are minds perverse, there's something will be
wrong;

Men are not equal; some will claim a right
To be the kings and heroes of the night;
Will their own favourite themes and notions start,
And you must hear, offend them, or depart.

66

There comes Sir Thomas from his village-seat, Happy, he tells us, all his friends to meet; He brings the ruin'd brother of his wife, Whom he supports, and makes him sick of life; A ready witness whom he can produce Of all his deeds-a butt for his abuse; Soon as he enters, has the guests espied, Drawn to the fire, and to the glass applied'Well, what's the subject ?-what are you about? "The news, I take it-come, I'll help you out: And then, without one answer he bestows Freely upon us all he hears and knows ; Gives us opinions, tells us how he votes, Recites the speeches, adds to them his notes; And gives old ill-told tales for new-born anecdotes: Yet cares he nothing what we judge or think, Our only duty's to attend and drink: At length, admonish'd by his gout he ends The various speech, and leaves at peace his friends; But now, alas! we've lost the pleasant hour, And wisdom flies from wine's superior power.

Wine, like the rising sun, possession gains, And drives the mist of dulness from the brains; The gloomy vapour from the spirit flies, And views of gaiety and gladness rise:

minds and harmonious tempers, may judge this description of a Card-club conversation to be highly exaggerated, if not totally fictitious; and I acknowledge that the club must admit a particular kind of members to afford such specimens of acrimony and objurgation; yet that such language is spoken, and such manners exhibited, is most certain, chiefly among those who, being successful in life, without previous education, not very nice in their feelings, or very attentive to improprieties, sit down to game with no other view than that of adding the gain of the evening to the profits of the day; whom, therefore, disappointment itself makes angry, and, when caused by another, resentful and vindictive.

6 [For an easy vein of ridicule, terse expression, and just strokes of character, this description of a Card Club is admirable. It is one of those likenesses which, without knowing the original, we may pronounce to be perfect. In another tone of verse, but equally happy, is the Club of Smokers.GIFFORD.]

Still it proceeds; till from the glowing heat,
The prudent calmly to their shades retreat:-
Then is the mind o'ercast-in wordy rage
And loud contention angry men engage;

Then spleen and pique, like fireworks thrown in spite,

To mischief turn the pleasures of the night;
Anger abuses, Malice loudly rails,

Revenge awakes, and Anarchy prevails :

Till wine, that raised the tempest, makes it cease,
And maudlin Love insists on instant peace;
He, noisy mirth and roaring song commands,
Gives idle toasts, and joins unfriendly hands:
Till fuddled Friendship vows esteem and weeps,
And jovial Folly drinks and sings and sleeps.

A Club there is of Smokers-Dare you come To that close, clouded, hot, narcotic room? When, midnight past, the very candles seem Dying for air, and give a ghastly gleam; When curling fumes in lazy wreaths arise, And prosing topers rub their winking eyes; When the long tale, renew'd when last they met, Is spliced anew, and is unfinish'd yet; When but a few are left the house to tire, And they half sleeping by the sleepy fire; E'en the poor ventilating vane that flew Of late so fast, is now grown drowsy too; When sweet, cold, clammy punch its aid bestows, Then thus the midnight conversation flows :"Then, as I said, and-mind me as I say, "At our last meeting-you remember "-"Ay?" "Well, very well-then freely as I drink "I spoke my thought-you take me-what I think. "And, sir, said I, if I a freeman be, "It is my bounden duty to be free."

"Ay, there you posed him: I respect the Chair, "But man is man, although the man's a mayor; "If Muggins live-no, no !-if Muggins die, "He'll quit his office-neighbour, shall I try?" "I'll speak my mind, for here are none but friends:

66 They 're all contending for their private ends; "No public spirit-once a vote would bring, 66 I say a vote was then a pretty thing; "It made a man to serve his country and his king: "But for that place, that Muggins must resign, "You've my advice-'t is no affair of mine."

The Poor Man has his Club: he comes and spends His hoarded pittance with his chosen friends; Nor this alone,- -a monthly dole he pays, To be assisted when his health decays; Some part his prudence, from the day's supply, For cares and troubles in his age, lays by; The printed rules he guards with painted frame, And shows his children where to read his name: Those simple words his honest nature move, That bond of union tied by laws of love; This is his pride, it gives to his employ New value, to his home another joy; While a religious hope its balm applies

For all his fate inflicts, and all his state denies.7

Masons are ours, Freemasons-but, alas!
To their own bards I leave the mystic class :
In vain shall one, and not a gifted man,
Attempt to sing of this enlightened clan:
I know no Word, boast no directing Sign,
And not one Token of the race is mine;
Whether with Hiram, that wise widow's son,
They came from Tyre to royal Solomon,
Two pillars raising by their skill profound,
Boaz and Jachin through the East renown'd:
Whether the sacred Books their rise express,
Or books profane, 't is vain for me to guess:
It may be lost in date remote and high,
They know not what their own antiquity:
It may be, too, derived from cause so low,
They have no wish their origin to show :
If, as Crusaders, they combined to wrest
From heathen lords the land they long possess'd;
Or were at first some harmless club, who made
Their idle meetings solemn by parade;

Is but conjecture-for the task unfit,
Awe-struck and mute, the puzzling theme I quit :
Yet, if such blessings from their Order flow,
We should be glad their moral code to know;
Trowels of silver are but simple things,
And Aprons worthless as their apron-strings;
But if indeed you have the skill to teach
A social spirit, now beyond our reach;
If man's warm passions you can guide and bind,
And plant the virtues in the wayward mind;
If you can wake to Christian love the heart,-
In mercy, something of your powers impart.
But, as it seems, we Masons must become
To know the Secret, and must then be dumb;
And as we venture for uncertain gains,
Perhaps the profit is not worth the pains.
When Bruce, that dauntless traveller, thought
he stood

On Nile's first rise, the fountain of the flood,

7 [The poor man's club, which partakes of the nature of a friendly society, is described with that good-hearted indulgence which marks all Mr. Crabbe's writings.-JEFFREY.]

And drank exulting in the sacred spring,
The critics told him it was no such thing;
That springs unnumber'd round the country ran,
But none could show him where the first began:
So might we feel, should we our time bestow,
To gain these Secrets and these Signs to know;
Might question still if all the truth we found,
And firmly stood upon the certain ground;
We might our title to the Mystery dread,
And fear we drank not at the river-head.

Griggs and Gregorians here their meeting hold, Convivial Sects, and Bucks alert and bold; A kind of Masons, but without their sign; The bonds of union-pleasure, song, and wine. Man, a gregarious creature, loves to fly Where he the trackings of the herd can spy; Still to be one with many he desires,

Although it leads him through the thorns and briers.

A few! but few there are, who in the mind
Perpetual source of consolation find:
The weaker many to the world will come,
For comforts seldom to be found from home.

When the faint hands no more a brimmer hold,
When flannel-wreaths the useless limbs infold,
The breath impeded, and the bosom cold;
When half the pillow'd man the palsy chains,
And the blood falters in the bloated veins,-
Then, as our friends no further aid supply
Than hope's cold phrase and courtesy's soft sigh,
We should that comfort for ourselves ensure,
Which friends could not, if we could friends pro-

cure.

Early in life, when we can laugh aloud,
There's something pleasant in a social crowd,
Who laugh with us-but will such joy remain,
When we lie struggling on the bed of pain?
When our physician tells us with a sigh,
No more on hope and science to rely,

Life's staff is useless then; with labouring breath
We pray for Hope divine-the staff of Death;-
This is a scene which few companions grace,
And where the heart's first favourites yield their
place.

Here all the aid of man to man must end,
Here mounts the soul to her eternal Friend:
The tenderest love must here its tie resign,
And give th' aspiring heart to love divine.

Men feel their weakness, and to numbers run, Themselves to strengthen, or themselves to shun; But though to this our weakness may be prone, Let's learn to live, for we must die, alone.

LETTER XI.

All the comforts of life in a Tavern are known,
"T is his home who possesses not one of his own;
And to him who has rather too much of that one,
'T is the house of a friend where he 's welcome to run;
The instant you enter my door you 're my Lord,
With whose taste and whose pleasure I'm proud to accord;
And the louder you call, and the longer you stay,
The more I am happy to serve and obey.

To the house of a friend if you 're pleased to retire,

You must all things admit, you must all things admire;
You must pay with observance the price of your treat,
You must eat what is praised, and must praise what you eat;
But here you may come, and no tax we require,
You may loudly condemn what you greatly admire;
You may growl at our wishes and pains to excel,
And may snarl at the rascals who please you so well.

At your wish we attend, and confess that your speech
On the nation's affairs might the minister teach;
His views you may blame, and his measures oppose,
There's no Tavern-treason-you 're under the Rose;
Should rebellions arise in your own little state,
With me you may safely their consequence wait;
To recruit your lost spirits 't is prudent to come,
And to fly to a friend when the devil's at home,

That I've faults is confess'd; but it won't be denied,
'Tis my interest the faults of my neighbours to hide;
If I've sometimes lent Scandal occasion to prate,
I've often conceal'd what she lov'd to relate;

If to Justice's bar some have wander'd from mine,
'Twas because the dull rogues wouldn't stay by their wine;
And for brawls at my house, well the poet explains,
That men drink shallow draughts, and so madden their brains.

MUCH do I need, and therefore will I ask,
A Muse to aid me in my present task;
For then with special cause we beg for aid,
When of our subject we are most afraid :
INNS are this subject 't is an ill-drawn lot,
So, thou who gravely triflest, fail me not;
Fail not, but haste, and to my memory bring
Scenes yet unsung, which few would choose to sing:
Thou mad'st a Shilling splendid; thou hast thrown
On humble themes the graces all thine own;
By thee the Mistress of a Village-school
Became a queen enthroned upon her stool;2
And far beyond the rest thou gav'st to shine
Belinda's Lock-that deathless work was thine.3,
Come, lend thy cheerful light, and give to please,
These seats of revelry, these scenes of ease;

Such as I oft have chaunced to espy
Lost in the dreary shades of dull obscurity."
SHENSTONE'S Schoolmistress.

3 "This Lock, the Muse shall consecrate to fame, And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name." POPE'S Rape of the Lock,

Who sings of Inns much danger has to dread,
And needs assistance from the fountain-head.
High in the street, o'erlooking all the place,
The rampant Lion shows his kingly face;
His ample jaws extend from side to side,
His eyes are glaring, and his nostrils wide;
In silver shag the sovereign form is dress'd,
A mane horrific sweeps his ample chest ;
Elate with pride, he seems t' assert his reign,
And stands the glory of his wide domain.

Yet nothing dreadful to his friends the sight,
But sign and pledge of welcome and delight.
To him the noblest guest the town detains
Flies for repast, and in his court remains;
Him too the crowd with longing looks admire,
Sigh for his joys, and modestly retire;
Here not a comfort shall to them be lost
Who never ask or never feel the cost.

The ample yards on either side contain
Buildings where order and distinction reign ;—
The splendid carriage of the wealthier guest,
The ready chaise and driver smartly dress'd;
Whiskeys and gigs and curricles are there,
And high-fed prancers many a raw-boned pair.
On all without a lordly host sustains
The care of empire, and observant reigns;
The parting guest beholds him at his side,
With pomp obsequious, bending in his pride;
Round all the place his eyes all objects meet,
Attentive, silent, civil, and discreet.
O'er all within the lady-hostess rules,
Her bar she governs, and her kitchen schools;
To every guest th' appropriate speech is made,
And every duty with distinction paid;
Respectful, easy, pleasant, or polite-

"Your honour's servant "-"Mister Smith, good night." 4

Next, but not near, yet honour'd through the town,

There swing, incongruous pair! the Bear and

Crown:

That Crown suspended gems and ribands deck,
A golden chain hangs o'er that furry neck:
Unlike the nobler beast, the Bear is bound,
And with the Crown so near him, scowls uncrown'd;
Less his dominion, but alert are all
Without, within, and ready for the call;
Smart lads and light run nimbly here and there,
Nor for neglected duties mourns the Bear.

To his retreats, on the Election-day,
The losing party found their silent way;
There they partook of each consoling good,
Like him uncrown'd, like him in sullen mood-
Threat'ning, but bound.-Here meet a social kind,
Our various clubs for various cause combined;
Nor has he pride, but thankful takes as gain
The dew-drops shaken from the Lion's mane:
A thriving couple here their skill display,
And share the profits of no vulgar sway.

Third in our Borough's list appears the sign
Of a fair queen-the gracious Caroline;
But in decay-each feature in the face
Has stain of Time, and token of disgrace.

4 [The White Lion is one of the principal inns at Aldborough. The landlord shows, with no little exultation, an old-fashioned parlour, the usual scene of convivial meetings, in which the poet had his share. See anté, p. 30.]

The storm of winter, and the summer-sun,
Have on that form their equal mischief done;
The features now are all disfigured seen,
And not one charm adorns th' insulted queen :5
To this poor face was never paint applied,
Th' unseemly work of cruel Time to hide;
Here we may rightly such neglect upbraid,
Paint on such faces is by prudence laid.
Large the domain, but all within combine
To correspond with the dishonour'd sign;
And all around dilapidates; you call-
But none replies-they 're inattentive all :
At length a ruin'd stable holds your steed,
While you through large and dirty rooms proceed,
Spacious and cold; a proof they once had been
In honour, now magnificently mean;

Till in some small half-furnish'd room you rest,
Whose dying fire denotes it had a guest.

In those you pass'd, where former splendour reign'd,

You saw the carpets torn, the paper stain'd;
Squares of discordant glass in windows fix'd,
And paper oil'd in many a space betwixt;
A soil'd and broken sconce, a mirror crack'd,
With table underprop'd, and chairs new back'd;
A marble side-slab with ten thousand stains,
And all an ancient Tavern's poor remains.

With much entreaty, they your food prepare,
And acid wine afford, with meagre fare;
Heartless you sup; and when a dozen times
You've read the fractured window's senseless
rhymes,

Have been assured that Phoebe Green was fair,
And Peter Jackson took his supper there;
You reach a chilling chamber, where you dread
Damps, hot or cold, from a tremendous bed;
Late comes your sleep, and you are waken'd soon
By rustling tatters of the old festoon.

O'er this large building, thus by time defaced,
A servile couple has its owner placed,
Who not unmindful that its style is large,
To lost magnificence adapt their charge:
Thus an old beauty, who has long declined,
Keeps former dues and dignity in mind;
And wills that all attention should be paid
For graces vanish'd and for charms decay'd.

Few years have pass'd, since brightly 'cross the

way,

Lights from each window shot the lengthen'd ray,
And busy looks in every face were seen,
Through the warm precincts of the reigning Queen;
There fires inviting blazed, and all around

Was heard the tinkling bells' seducing sound;
The nimble waiters to that sound from far
Sprang to the call, then hasten'd to the bar;
Where a glad priestess of the temple sway'd,
The most obedient, and the most obey'd;
Rosy and round, adorn'd in crimson vest,
And flaming ribands at her ample breast:
She, skill'd like Circe, tried her guests to move,
With looks of welcome and with words of love;
And such her potent charms, that men unwise
Were soon transform'd and fitted for the sties.

5 [Original edition :

Have, like the guillotine, the royal neck. Parted in twain-the figure is a wreck.]

Her port in bottles stood, a well-stain'd row,
Drawn for the evening from the pipe below;
Three powerful spirits filled a parted case,
Some cordial bottles stood in secret place;
Fair acid-fruits in nets above were seen,
Her plate was splendid, and her glasses clean;
Basins and bowls were ready on the stand,
And measures clatter'd in her powerful hand
Inferior Houses now our notice claim,

But who shall deal them their appropriate fame ?
Who shall the nice, yet known distinction, tell,
Between the peel complete and single Bell?

Determine ye, who on your shining nags
Wear oil-skin beavers, and bear seal-skin bags;
Or ye, grave topers, who with coy delight
Snugly enjoy the sweetness of the night;
Ye Travellers all, superior Inns denied
By moderate purse, the low by decent pride;
Come and determine,-will you take your place
At the full Orb, or half the lunar Face?
With the Black-Boy or Angel will ye dine?
Will ye approve the Fountain or the Vine?
Horses the white or black will ye prefer?
The Silver-Swan or Swan opposed to her-
Rare bird! whose form the raven-plumage
decks,

And graceful curve her three alluring necks?
All these a decent entertainment give,
And by their comforts comfortably live.

Shall I pass by the Boar?-there are who cry,
"Beware the Boar," and pass determined by:
Those dreadful tusks, those little peering eyes
And churning chaps, are tokens to the wise.
There dwells a kind old Aunt, and there you see
Some kind young Nieces in her company;
Poor village nieces, whom the tender dame
Invites to town, and gives their beauty Fame;
The grateful sisters feel th' important aid,
And the good Aunt is flatter'd and repaid.

What, though it may some cool observers strike, That such fair sisters should be so unlike; That still another and another comes, And at the matron's tables smiles and blooms; That all appear as if they meant to stay Time undefined, nor name a parting day; And yet, though all are valued, all are dear, Causeless, they go, and seldom more appear

Yet let Suspicion hide her odious head, And Scandal vengeance from a burgess dread; A pious friend, who with the ancient dame At sober cribbage takes an evening game; His cup beside him, through their play he quaffs, And oft renews, and innocently laughs; Or growing serious, to the text resorts, And from the Sunday-sermon makes reports; While all, with grateful glee, his wish attend, A grave protector and a powerful friend : But Slander says, who indistinctly sees, Once he was caught with Sylvia on his knees; A cautious burgess with a careful wife To be so caught!-'t is false upon my life. Next are a lower kind, yet not so low But they, among them, their distinctions know; And when a thriving landlord aims so high, As to exchange the Chequer for the Pye,

6" Rara avis in terris, nigroque simillima cygno."--Juv.

Or from Duke William to the Dog repairs, He takes a finer coat and fiercer airs.

Pleased with his power, the poor man loves to say
What favourite Inn shall share his evening's pay;
Where he shall sit the social hour, and lose
His past day's labours and his next day's views.
Our Seamen too have choice; one takes a trip
In the warm cabin of his favourite Ship;
And on the morrow in the humbler Boat
He rows till fancy feels herself afloat;
Can he the sign-Three Jolly Sailors-pass,
Who hears a fiddle and who sees a lass?
The Anchor too affords the seaman joys,
In small smoked room, all clamour, crowd, and
noise;

Where a curved settle half surrounds the fire,
Where fifty voices purl and punch require;
They come for pleasure in their leisure hour,
And they enjoy it to their utmost power;
Standing they drink, they swearing smoke, while
all

Call, or make ready for a second call:
There is no time for trifling-"Do ye see?
"We drink and drub the French extempore."
See! round the room, on every beam and balk,
Are mingled scrolls of hieroglyphic chalk;
Yet nothing heeded-would one stroke suffice
To blot out all, here honour is too nice,-
"Let knavish landsmen think such dirty things,
"We're British tars, and British tars are kings."
But the Green-Man shall I pass by unsung,
Which mine own James upon his sign-post hung?
His sign his image,-for he was once seen
A squire's attendant, clad in keeper's green;
Ere yet with wages more, and honour less,
He stood behind me in a graver dress.

James in an evil hour went forth to woo
Young Juliet Hart, and was her Romeo:
They'd seen the play, and thought it vastly sweet
For two young lovers by the moon to meet;
The nymph was gentle, of her favours free,
E'en at a word-no Rosalind was she;
Nor, like that other Juliet, tried his truth
With "Be thy purpose marriage, gentle youth?"
But him received, and heard his tender tale
When sang the lark, and when the nightingale:
So in few months the generous lass was seen
I' the way that all the Capulets had been.

Then first repentance seized the amorcus man, And-shame on love!-he reason'd and he ran; The thoughtful Romeo trembled for his purse, And the sad sounds, "for better and for worse." Yet could the Lover not so far withdraw, But he was haunted both by Love and Law; Now Law dismay'd him as he view'd its fangs, Now Pity seized him for his Juliet's pangs; Then thoughts of justice and some dread of jail, Where all would blame him, and where none might bail;

These drew him back, till Juliet's hut appear'd, Where love had drawn him when he should have fear'd.

There sat the father in his wicker throne,
Uttering his curses in tremendous tone:
With foulest names his daughter he reviled,
And look'd a very Herod at the child:
Nor was she patient, but with equal scorn,
Bade him remember when his Joe was born: