And while she stands abash'd, with conscious eye,
Some favourite female of her judge glides by,
Who views with scornful glance the strumpet's fate,
And thanks the stars that made her keeper great:
Near her the swain, about to bear for life
One certain evil, doubts 'twixt war and wife;
But, while the falt'ring damsel takes her oath,
Consents to wed, and so secures them both.

Yet why, you ask, these humble crimes relate,
Why make the Poor as guilty as the Great?
To show the great, those mightier sons of pride,
How near in vice the lowest are allied;

Such are their natures and their passions such,
But these disguise too little, those too much :(1)
So shall the man of power and pleasure see
In his own slave as vile a wretch as he;
In his luxurious lord the servant find

His own low pleasures and degenerate mind:

(1) ["It is good for the proprietor of an estate to know that such things are, and at his own doors. He might have guessed, indeed, as a general truth, even whilst moving in his own exclusive sphere, that many a story of intense interest might be supplied by the annals of his parish. Crabbe would have taught him thus much, had he been a reader of that most sagacious of observers, most searching of moral anatomists, most graphic of poets; and we reverence this great writer not less for his genius than for his patriotism, in bravely lifting up the veil which is spread between the upper classes and the working-day world, and letting one half of mankind know what the other is about. This effect alone gives a dignity to his poetry, which poems constructed after a more Arcadian model would never have in our eyes, however pleasingly they may babble of green fields. But such wholesome incidents reach the ears of the landlord in his own particular case, most commonly through the clergyman they fall rather within his department than another's- they lie upon his beat- through his representations the sympathies of the landlord are profitably drawn out, and judiciously directed to the individual — and another thread is added to those cords of a man, by which the owner and occupant of the soil are knit together, and society is interlaced."- Quarterly Review, 1833.]

And each in all the kindred vices trace,
Of a poor, blind, bewilder'd, erring race,
Who, a short time in varied fortune past,
Die, and are equal in the dust at last. (1)

And you, ye Poor, who still lament your fate, Forbear to envy those you call the Great ; And know, amid those blessings they possess, They are, like you, the victims of distress; While Sloth with many a pang torments her slave, Fear waits on guilt, and Danger shakes the brave. Oh! if in life one noble chief appears, Great in his name, while blooming in his years; Born to enjoy whate'er delights mankind, And yet to all you feel or fear resign'd ; Who gave up joys and hopes to you unknown, For pains and dangers greater than your own : If such there be, then let your murmurs cease, Think, think of him, and take your lot in peace. And such there was: -Oh! grief, that cheeks our pride,

(1) ["A rich man, what is he? Has he a frame

Distinct from others? or a better name?

Has he more legs, more arms, more eyes, more brains?
Has he less care, less crosses, or less pains?
Can riches keep the mortal wretch from death?
Or can new treasures purchase a new breath?
Or does Heaven send its love and mercy more
To Mammon's pamper'd sons than to the poor ?
If not, why should the fool take so much state,
Exalt himself, and others under-rate?
"Tis senseless ignorance that soothes his pride,
And makes him laugh at all the world beside;
But when excesses bring on gout or stone,
All his vain mirth and gaiety are gone:

And when he dies, for all he looks so high,

He'll make as vile a skeleton as I." -TOM BROWNE.]

Beloved of Heaven, these humble lines forgive,
That sing of Thee (1), and thus aspire to live.
As the tall oak, whose vigorous branches form
An ample shade and brave the wildest storm,
High o'er the subject wood is seen to grow,
The guard and glory of the trees below;
Till on its head the fiery bolt descends,
And o'er the plain the shatter'd trunk extends;
Yet then it lies, all wond'rous as before,
And still the glory, though the guard no more :

SO THOU, when every virtue, every grace,

Rose in thy soul, or shone within thy face; [known
When, though the son of GRANBY (2), thou wert
Less by thy father's glory than thy own;
When Honour loved and gave thee every charm,
Fire to thy eye and vigour to thy arm;
Then from our lofty hopes and longing eyes,
Fate and thy virtues call'd thee to the skies;
Yet still we wonder at thy tow'ring fame,
And, losing thee, still dwell upon thy name.

(1) Lord Robert Manners, the youngest son of the Marquess of Granby and the Lady Frances Seymour, daughter of Charles duke of Somerset, was born on the 5th of February, 1758; and was placed with his brother, the late duke of Rutland, at Eton school, where he acquired, and ever after retained, a considerable knowledge of the classical authors. Lord Robert, after going through the duties of his profession on board different ships, was made captain of the Resolution, and commanded her in nine different actions, besides the last memorable one on the 12th of April, 1782, when, in breaking the French line of battle, he received the wounds which terminated his life, in the twenty-fourth year of his age. See the Annual Re gister.[This article in the Annual Register was written by Mr. Crabbe, and is now reprinted as an Appendix to " The Village."]

(2) [John, Marquess of Granby, the illustrious commander-in-chief of the British forces in Germany during the Seven Years' War, died in 1770, be fore his father, the thirteenth Earl and third Duke of Rutland]

Oh! ever honour'd, ever valued! say,

What verse can praise thee, or what work repay?
Yet verse (in all we can) thy worth repays,

Nor trusts the tardy zeal of future days ;-
Honours for thee thy country shall prepare,

Thee in their hearts, the good, the brave shall bear ;
To deeds like thine shall noblest chiefs aspire,
The Muse shall mourn thee, and the world admire.

In future times, when smit with Glory's charms,
The untried youth first quits a father's arms;
"Oh! be like him," the weeping sire shall say;
"Like MANNERS walk, who walk'd in Honour's way;
"In danger foremost, yet in death sedate,
“Oh! be like him in all things, but his fate!"
If for that fate such public tears be shed,
That Victory seems to die now THOU art dead;
How shall a friend his nearer hope resign,
That friend a brother, and whose soul was thine?
By what bold lines shall we his grief express,
Or by what soothing numbers make it less?
'Tis not, I know, the chiming of a song,
Nor all the powers that to the Muse belong,
Words aptly cull'd, and meanings well express'd,
Can calm the sorrows of a wounded breast;
But Virtue, soother of the fiercest pains,
Shall heal that bosom, RUTLAND, where she reigns.(1)
Yet hard the task to heal the bleeding heart,
To bid the still-recurring thoughts depart,

(1) [Original MS:

"But RUTLAND's virtues shall his griefs restrain,
And join to heal the bosom where they reign."

See some anecdotes illustrative of the Duke's tender affection for his gallant brother, antè, Vol. I. pp. 115, 117.]

Tame the fierce grief and stem the rising sigh,
And curb rebellious passion, with reply;

Calmly to dwell on all that pleased before,
And yet to know that all shall please no more;
Oh! glorious labour of the soul, to save
Her captive powers, and bravely mourn the brave
To such these thoughts will lasting comfort give-
Life is not measured by the time we live :
'Tis not an even course of threescore years,
A life of narrow views and paltry fears,

Grey hairs and wrinkles and the cares they bring,
That take from Death the terrors or the sting;
But 'tis the gen'rous spirit, mounting high
Above the world, that native of the sky;
The noble spirit, that, in dangers brave,
Calmly looks on, or looks beyond the
grave:
Such MANNERS was, so he resign'd his breath,
If in a glorious, then a timely death.

Cease then that grief, and let those tears subside; If Passion rule us, be that passion pride;

If Reason, reason bids us strive to raise

Our fallen hearts, and be like him we praise;

Or if Affection still the soul subdue,

Bring all his virtues, all his worth in view,
And let Affection find its comfort too :

For how can Grief so deeply wound the heart,
When Admiration claims so large a part?

Grief is a foe-expel him then thy soul;
Let nobler thoughts the nearer views control!
Oh! make the age to come thy better care,
See other RUTLANDS, other GRANBYS there!