V.

Incompetent my song to raise
To its just height thy praise,
Great Mill!

That by thy motion proper

(No thanks to wind, or sail, or working rill)
Grinding that stubborn corn, the Human will,
Turn'st out men's consciences,

That were begrimed before, as clean and sweet
As flour from purest wheat,

Into thy hopper.

All reformation short of thee but nonsense is,
Or human, or divine.

VI.

Compared with thee,

What are the labours of that Jumping Sect, Which feeble laws connive at rather than respect? Thou dost not bump,

Or jump,

But walk men into virtue; betwixt crime
And slow repentance giving breathing time,
And leisure to be good;

Instructing with discretion demi-reps

How to direct their steps.

VII.

Thou best Philosopher made out of wood!
Not that which framed the tub,

Where sate the Cynic cub,

With nothing in his bosom sympathetic;

But from those groves derived, I deem,

Where Plato nursed his dream

Of immortality;

Seeing that clearly

Thy system all is merely

Peripatetic.

Thou to thy pupils dost such lessons give

Of how to live

With temperance, sobriety, morality

(A new art),

That from thy school, by force of virtuous deeds, Each Tyro now proceeds

A "Walking Stewart !"

EPICEDIUM.

GOING OR GONE.

I.

FINE merry franions,
Wanton companions,

My days are ev'n banyans
With thinking upon ye;
How Death, that last stinger,
Finis-writer, end-bringer,
Has laid his chill finger,

Or is laying on ye.

II.

There's rich Kitty Wheatley,
With footing it featly

That took me completely,

She sleeps in the Kirk House;

And poor Polly Perkin,

Whose dad was still firking

The jolly ale firkin,

She's gone to the Work-house:

III.

Fine Gard'ner, Ben Carter

(In ten counties no smarter),

Has ta'en his departure

For Proserpine's orchards;

And Lily, postilion,
With cheeks of vermilion,
Is one of a million

That fill up the churchyards;

IV.

And, lusty as Dido,
Fat Clemitson's widow
Flits now a small shadow
By Stygian hid ford;
And good master Clapton
Has thirty years nap't on,
The ground he last hap't on,
Intomb'd by fair Widford;

V.

And gallant Tom Dockwra,
Of Nature's finest crockery,
Now but thin air and mockery,
Lurks by Avernus,

Whose honest grasp of hand
Still, while his life did stand,
At friend's or foe's command,
Almost did burn us.

VI.

Roger de Coverley

Not more good man than he

Yet has he equally

Push'd for Cocytus,

With drivelling Worral,

And wicked old Dorrell,

'Gainst whom I've a quarrel,

Whose end might affright us!—

VII.

Kindly hearts have I known;

Kindly hearts, they are flown;

Here and there if but one
Linger yet uneffaced,

Imbecile tottering elves,

Soon to be wreck'd on shelves, These scarce are half themselves, With age and care crazed.

VIII.

But this day Fanny Hutton
Her last dress has put on;
Her fine lessons forgotten,

She died, as the dunce died:

And prim Betsy Chambers,
Decay'd in her members,

No longer remembers

Things as she once did;

IX.

And prudent Miss Wither
Not in jest now doth wither
And soon must go whither

Nor I well, nor you know; And flaunting Miss Waller, That soon must befall her, Whence none can recall her,

Though proud once as Juno!

THE WIFE'S TRIAL;

OR, THE INTRUDING WIDOW.

A Dramatic Poem,

Founded on Mr. Crabbe's Tale of the "Confidant."

CHARACTERS.

MR. SELBY, a Wiltshire Gentleman.

KATHERINE, Wife to Selby.

LUCY, Sister to Selby.

MRS. FRAMPTON, a Widow.
SERVANTS.

SCENO. At MR. SELBY'S House, or in the Grounds adjacent.

SCENE. A Library. MR. SELBY, KATHERINE.
Selby. Do not too far mistake me, gentlest wife;
I meant to chide your virtues, not yourself,
And those too with allowance. I have not
Been blest by thy fair side with five white years
Of smooth and even wedlock, now to touch
With any strain of harshness on a string
Hath yielded me such music. 'Twas the quality
Of a too grateful nature in my Katherine,
That to the lame performance of some vows,
And common courtesies of man to wife,
Attributing too much, hath sometimes seem'd
To esteem as favours, what in that blest union
Are but reciprocal and trivial dues,

As fairly yours as mine: 'twas this I thought
Gently to reprehend.

Kath. In friendship's barter

The riches we exchange should hold some level,