Where chanticleer amidst his haram fleeps

In unfufpecting pomp. Twitch'd from the perch,
He gives the princely bird, with all his wives,
To his voracious bag, ftruggling in vain,
And loudly wond'ring at the fudden change.
Nor this to feed his own. "Twere fome excuse
Did pity of their fufferings warp afide
His principle, and tempt him into fin
For their support, fo deftitute. But they
Neglected pine at home, themselves, as more
Expos'd than others, with lefs fcruple made
His victims, robb'd of their defenceless all.
Cruel is all he does. 'Tis quenchless thirst
Of ruinous ebriety that prompts

His ev'ry action, and imbrutes the man.
Oh for a law to noose the villain's neck

Who starves his own; who perfecutes the blood
He gave them, in his children's veins, and hates
And wrongs the woman he has fworn to love.
Pafs where we may, through city or through
town,

Village or hamlet of this merry land,

Though lean and beggar'd, ev'ry twentieth pace
Conducts th' unguarded nofe to fuch a whiff
Of ftale debauch, forth-iffuing from the ftyes
That law has licens'd, as makes temp❜rance reel.
There fit, involv'd and loft in curling clouds
Of Indian fume, and guzzling deep, the boor,.

The

The lackey, and the groom: the craftsman there
Takes a Lethean leave of all his toil;

Smith, cobler, joiner, he that plies the sheers,
And he that kneads the dough; all loud alike,
All learned, and all drunk. The fiddle fcreams
Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and wail'd
Its wafted tones and harmony unheard:

Fierce the difpute, whate'er the theme; while fhe,

Fell Difcord, arbitress of such debate,

Perch'd on the fign-post, holds with even hand
Her undecifive fcales. In this she lays
A weight of ignorance, in that, of pride,
And fimiles delighted with th' eternal poife.
Dire is the frequent curse, and its twin found
The cheek-diftending oath, not to be prais'd
As ornamental, mufical, polite,

Like those which modern fenators employ,
Whose oath is rhet'ric, and who fwear for fame.
Behold the schools in which plebeian minds,
Once fimple, are initiated in arts,

Which fome may practise with politer grace,, But none with readier skill! 'tis here they learn The road that leads, from competence and peace, To indigence and rapine; till at laft

Society, grown weary of the load,

Shakes her inçumber'd lap, and cafts them out.

But cenfure profits little: vain th' attempt -To advertise in verfe a public pest,

That, like the filth with which the peasant feeds
His hungry acres, ftinks, and is of use.

Th' excife is fatten'd with the rich refult
Of all this riot; and ten thousand casks,
For ever dribbling out their base contents,
Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state,
Bleed gold for Minifters to sport away.

Drink and be mad then; 'tis your country bids;
Gloriously drunk, obey th' important call;
Her caufe demands th' affiftance of your throats;
Ye all can fwallow, and she asks no more.

Would I had fall'n upon those happier days
That poets celebrate; those golden times
And thofe Arcadian fcenes that Maro fings,
And Sidney, warbler of poetic profe.

Nymphs were Dianas then, and fwains had hearts

That felt their virtues: innocence, it seems,
From courts difmifs'd, found fhelter in the groves.
The footsteps of fimplicity, imprefs'd

Upon the yielding herbage (so they fing)
Then were not all effac'd: then speech profane,
And manners profligate, were rarely found,
Obferv❜d as prodigies, and foon reclaim'd.
Vain with! thofe days were never airy dreams
Sat for the picture; and the poet's hand,

Imparting

Imparting substance to an empty shade,
Impos'd a gay delirium for a truth.
Grant it: I ftill muft envy them an age
That favor'd fuch a dream; in days like these
Impoffible, when virtue is so scarce,

That to suppose a scene where the prefides,
Is tramontane, and stumbles all belief.
No: we are polifh'd now. The rural lass,
Whom once her virgin modesty and grace,
Her artless manners and her neat attire,
So dignified, that she was hardly lefs
Than the fair fhepherdefs of old romance
Is feen no more. The character is loft.
Her head, adorn'd with lappets pinn'd aloft,
And ribbands ftreaming gay, fuperbly rais'd,
And magnified beyond all human fize,
Indebted to fome fmart wig-weaver's hand
For more than half the treffes it fuftains

Her elbows ruffled, and her tott'ring form

Il propp'd upon French heels; fhe might be deem'd

(But that the basket dangling on her arm
Interprets her more truly) of a rank
Too proud for dairy-work or fale of eggs..
Expect her foon with foot-boy at her heels,
No longer blushing for her aukward load,
Her train and her umbrella all her care.

The town has ting'd the country; and the

ftain

Appears a fpot upon a veftal's robe,

The worfe for what it foils. The fashion runs
Down into scenes ftill rural; but, alas!

Scenes rarely grac'd with rural manners now.
Time was when, in the pastoral retreat,

Th' unguarded door was fafe; men did not watch
T' invade another's right, or guard their own.
Then fleep was undisturb'd by fear, unscar'd
By drunken howlings; and the chilling tale
Of midnight murther, was a wonder heard
With doubtful credit, told to frighten babes.
But farewel now to unfufpicious nights,
And lumbers unalarm'd: now, ere you fleep,
See that your polifh'd arms be prim'd with care,
And drop the night-bolt; ruffians are abroad,
And the first larum of the cock's fhrill throat
May prove a trumpet, fummoning your ear
To horrid founds of hoftile feet within.
Ev'n day-lights has its dangers; and the walk
Through pathlefs waftes and woods, unconscious

once

Of other tenants than melodious birds,

Or harmless flocks, is hazardous and bold.
Lamented change! to which full many a cause
Invet'rate, hopeless of a cure, confpires.

The