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And boldly rose against his sovereign will;
With idiot-cunning she would watch the hour,
When friends were present, to dispute his power:
With tyrant-craft, he then was still and calm,
But raised in private terror and alarm:
By many trials, she perceived how far
To vex and tease, without an open war;
And he discover'd that so weak a mind
No art could lead, and no compulsion bind;
The rudest force would fail such mind to tame,
And she was callous to rebuke and shame;
Proud of her wealth, the power of law she knew,
And would assist him in the spending too:
His threat'ning words with insult she defied,
To all his reasoning with a stare replied;
And when he begg'd her to attend, would say,
"Attend I will-but let me have my way."

Nor rest had Conscience: "While you merit pain
From me," she cried, "you seek redress in vain."
His thoughts were grievous: "All that I possess
From this vile bargain adds to my distress;
To pass a life with one who will not mend,
Who cannot love, nor save, nor wisely spend,
Is a vile prospect, and I see no end:

For if we part, I must of course restore
Much of her money, and must wed no more.

"Is there no way?"--Here Conscience rose in power,"Oh! fly the danger of this fatal hour;

I am thy Conscience, faithful, fond, and true:

Ah, fly this thought, or evil must ensue ;
Fall on thy knees, and pray with all thy soul,
Thy purpose banish, thy design control:
Let every hope of such advantage cease,
Or never more expect a moment's peace.'
Th' affrighten'd man a due attention paid,
Felt the rebuke, and the command obey'd.

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Again the wife rebell'd, again express'd A love for pleasure-a contempt of rest; "She whom she pleased would visit, would receive Those who pleased her, nor deign to ask for leave." "One way there is," said he; "I might contrive Into a trap this foolish thing to drive:

Who pleased her, said she ?-I'll be certain who."

"Take heed," said Conscience" what thou mean'st to do Ensnare thy wife?"-" Why, yes," he must confess,

"It might be wrong, but there was no redress;

Beside to think," said he, " is not to sin."
"Mistaken man!" replied the power within.
No guest unnoticed to the lady came,

He judged th' event with mingled joy and shame;
Oft he withdrew, and seem'd to leave her free,
But still as watchful as a lynx was he;

Meanwhile the wife was thoughtless, cool, and gay,
And, without virtue, had no wish to stray.

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Though thus opposed, his plans were not resign'd;
Revenge," said he, "will prompt that daring mind;
Refused supplies, insulted and distress'd,

Enraged with me, and near a favourite guest-
Then will her vengeance prompt the daring deed,
And I shall watch, detect her, and be freed."
There was a youth-but let me hide the name,
With all the progress of this deed of shame;
He had his views-on him the husband cast
His net, and saw him in his trammels fast.
"Pause but a moment-think what you intend,"
Said the roused Sleeper: "I am yet a friend.
Must all our days in enmity be spent?"
"No!" and he paused-" I surely shall repent:"
Then hurried on-the evil plan was laid,

The wife was guilty, and her friend betray'd,
And Fulham gain'd his wish, and for his will was paid.
Had crimes less weighty on the spirit press'd,
This troubled Conscience might have sunk to rest;
And, like a foolish guard, been bribed to peace,
By a false promise, that offence should cease;
Past faults had seem'd familiar to the view,
Confused if many, and obscure though true;
And Conscience, troubled with the dull account,
Had dropp'd her tale, and slumber'd o'er th' amount.
But, struck by daring guilt, alert she rose,
Disturb'd, alarm'd, and could no more repose;
All hopes of friendship and of peace were past,
And every view with gloom was overcast.

Hence from that day, that day of shame and sin,
Arose the restless enmity within :

On no resource could Fulham now rely,

Doom'd all expedients, and in vain, to try;

For Conscience, roused, sat boldly on her throne,
Watch'd every thought, attack'd the foe alone,

And with envenom'd sting drew forth the inward groan:
Expedients fail'd that brought relief before,

In vain his alms gave comfort to the poor,

Give what he would, to him the comfort came no more:
Not prayer avail'd, and when (his crimes confess'd)
He felt some ease, she said, "Are they redress'd?

You still retain the profit, and be sure,

Long as it lasts, this anguish shall endure."

Fulham still tried to soothe her, cheat, mislead,

But Conscience laid her finger on the deed,

And read the crime with power, and all that must succeed: He tried t' expel her, but was sure to find

Her strength increased by all that he design'd;

Nor ever was his groan more loud and deep

Than when refresh'd she rose from momentary sleep.

Now desperate grown, weak, harass'd, and afraid,

From new allies he sought for doubtful aid;

To thought itself he strove to bid adieu,

And from devotions to diversions flew;

He took a poor domestic for a slave

(Though avarice grieved to see the price he gave);
Upon his board, once frugal, press'd a load
Of viands rich the appetite to goad;

The long protracted meal, the sparkling cup,
Fought with his gloom, and kept his courage up:
Soon as the morning came, there met his eyes
Accounts of wealth, that he might reading rise;
To profit then he gave some active hours,

Till food and wine again should renovate his powers:
Yet, spite of all defence, of every aid,

The watchful Foe her close attention paid;
In every thoughtful moment on she press'd,
And gave at once her dagger to his breast;
He waked at midnight, and the fears of sin,
As waters through a bursten dam, broke in;
Nay, in the banquet, with his friends around,

When all their cares and half their crimes were drown'd,
Would some chance act awake the slumbering fear,
And care and crime in all their strength appear:
The news is read, a guilty victim swings,
And troubled looks proclaim the bosom-stings:
Some pair are wed; this brings the wife in view;
And some divorced; this shows the parting too:
Nor can he hear of evil word or deed,

But they to thought, and thought to sufferings lead.
Such was his life--no other changes came,
The hurrying day, the conscious night the same;
The night of horror-when he starting cried
To the poor startled sinner at his side,

"Is it in law? am I condemned to die?
Let me escape ! -I'll give-oh! let me fly-
How! but a dream!-no judges! dungeon! chain!
Or these grim men!-I will not sleep again.—
Wilt thou, dread being! thus thy promise keep?
Day is thy time—and wilt thou murder sleep?
Sorrow and want repose, and wilt thou come,
Nor give one hour of pure untroubled gloom?

"Oh! Conscience! Conscience! man's most faithful friend Him canst thou comfort, ease, relieve, defend;

But if he will thy friendly checks forego,
Thou art, oh? woe for me, his deadliest foe?"

TALE XV.

ADVICE; OR THE 'SQUIRE AND THE PRIEST.

His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports-
And never noted in him any study,
Any retirement, any sequestration.

I will converse with iron-witted fools,
With unrespective boys: none are for me,
Who look into me with considerate eyes.

You cram these words into mine ears, against
The stomach of my sense.

A WEALTHY Lord of far-extended land

Henry V.

Richard III.

Tempest.

Had all that pleased him placed at his command;
Widow'd of late, but finding much relief

In the world's comforts, he dismiss'd his grief;
He was by marriage of his daughters eased,
And knew his sons could marry if they pleased;
Meantime in travel he indulged the boys,
And kept no spy nor partner of his joys.

These joys, indeed, were of the grosser kind,
That fed the cravings of an earthly mind;
A mind that, conscious of its own excess,
Felt the reproach his neighbours would express.
Long at th' indulgent board he loved to sit,
Where joy was laughter, and profaneness wit;
And such the guest and manners of the hall,
No wedded lady on the 'Squire would call:
Here reign'd a Favourite, and her triumph gain'd
O'er other favourites who before had reign'd;
Reserved and modest seemed the nymph to be,
Knowing her lord was charm'd with modesty ;
For he, a sportsman keen, the more enjoy'd,
The greater value had the thing destroy'd.

Our 'Squire declared, that from a wife released,
He would no more give trouble to a Priest;
Seem'd it not, then, ungrateful and unkind
That he should trouble from the priesthood find?
The Church he honour'd, and he gave the due
And full respect to every son he knew;
But envied those who had the luck to meet
A gentle pastor, civil and discreet;
Who never bold and hostile sermon penned,
To wound a sinner, or to shame a friend;

One whom no being either shunn'd or fear'd:
Such must be loved wherever they appear'd.

Not such the stern old Rector of the time,
Who soothed no culprit, and who spared no crime;
Who would his fears and his contempt express
For irreligion and licentiousness;

Of him our Village Lord, his guests among,
By speech vindictive proved his feelings stung.
"Were he a bigot," said the 'Squire, "whose zeal
Condemn'd us all, I should disdain to feel:
But when a man of parts, in college train'd,
Prates of our conduct, who would not be pain'd?
While he declaims (where no one dares reply)
On men abandon'd, grov'ling in the sty

(Like beasts in human shape) of shameless luxury.
Yet with a patriot's zeal I stand the shock
Of vile rebuke, example to his flock:
But let this Rector, thus severe and proud,
Change his wide surplice for a narrow shroud,
And I will place within his seat a youth,
Train'd by the Graces to explain the Truth;
Then shall the flock with gentle hand be led,
By wisdom won, and by compassion fed."

This purposed Teacher was a sister's son,
Who of her children gave the priesthood one;
And she had early train'd for this employ
The pliant talents of her college-boy:
At various times her letters painted all

Her brother's views the manners of the Hall;
The rector's harshness, and the mischief made

By chiding those whom preachers should persuade:
This led the youth to views of easy life,

A friendly patron, an obliging wife;

His tithe, his glebe, the garden, and the steed,
With books as many as he wish'd to read.

All this accorded with the Uncle's will:

He loved a priest compliant, easy, still;
Sums he had often to his favourite sent,
"To be," he wrote, "in manly freedom spent ;
For well it pleased his spirit to assist
An honest lad, who scorn'd a Methodist."
His mother, too, in her maternal care,
Bade him of canting hypocrites beware;

Who from his duties would his heart seduce,
And make his talents of no earthly use.

Soon must a trial of his worth be made-
The ancient priest is to the tomb convey'd;
And the Youth summon'd from a serious friend,

His guide and host, new duties to attend.

Three months before, the nephew and the 'Squire Saw mutual worth to praise and to admire ; And though the one too early left his wine, The other still exclaim'd-"My boy will shine; Yes, I perceive that he will soon improve,

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