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 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 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
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
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.
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