ed this; yet ftill it was uttered with fomething of a Cervantic tone and as he spoke it, Eugenius could perceive a ftream of lambent fire lighted up for a moment in his eyes; faint picture of thofe flashes of his fpirit, which (as Shakespear faid of his ancestor) were wont to fet the table in a roar !

EUGENIUS was convinced from this, that the heart of his friend was broke; he fqueezed his hand, and then walked foftly out of the room, weeping as He walked. Yorick followed Eugenius with his eyes to the door, then closed them, and never opened them more.

he

Ebe dies buried in a corner of his church-yärd, under a plain marble flab, which his friend Eugenius, by leave of his executors, laid upon his grave, with no more than thefe three words of infcription, ferving both for his epitaph, and elegy.

Alas, poor YORICK!

TEN times a day has Yorick's ghost the confolation to hear his monumental infcription read over with fuch a variety of plaintive tones, as denote a general pity and eteem for him;a footway croffing the church-yard clofe by his grave, not a paffenger goes by without ftopping to caft a look upon it, and fighing as he walks on, Alas, poor YORICK!

STERNE.

CHAP

CHA P.

III,

THE BEGGAR's PETITION.

ITY the forrows of a poor old man,

PITY

Whofe trembling limbs have borne him to your door,

Whofe days are dwindled to the fhorteft fpan,

Oh! give relief, and Heaven will bless your ftore.

Thefe tatter'd cloaths my poverty bespeak,
Thefe hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years
And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek
Has been the channel to a flood of tears,

Yon house, erected on the rifing ground,
With tempting afpect drew me from my road;
For Plenty there a refidence has found,
And Grandeur a magnificent abode.

Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!
Here, as I crav'd a morfel of their bread,
A pamper'd menial drove me from the door
To feek a fhelter in an humbler fhed.

Oh! take me to your hofpitable dome;

Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold!
Short is my paffage to the friendly tomb,
For I am poor and miferably old.

Should I reveal the fources of my grief,
If foft humanity, e'er touch'd your breast,
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of Pity would not be repreft,

Heaven fends misfortunes; why fhould we repine?
'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state you fee;
And your condition may be foon like mine,
The child of Sorrow and of Misery.

A little farm was my paternal lot,

Then like the lark I sprightly hail'd the morn;
But ah! oppreffion forc'd me from my cot,
My cattle dy'd, and blighted was my corn.

My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur'd by a villain from her native home,
Is caft abandon'd on the world's wide stage,
And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam.

My tender wife, fweet foother of my care!
Struck with fad anguish at the stern decree,
Fell, ling'ring fell, a victim to despair,
And left the world to wretchedness and me.

Pity the forrows of a poor old man,

Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door,
Whofe days are dwindled to the shortest span,

Oh! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store.

HAT beck'ning ghoft, along the Moon-light fhade

WH

Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?

"Tis fhe!—but why that bleeding bofom gor'd,

Why dimly gleams the vifionary sword?

Oh

Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell,
Is it, in heav'n a crime to love too well?
To bear too tender, or too firm a heart,
To act a Lover's or a Roman's part?
Is there no bright reverfion in the sky,
For those who greatly think, or bravely die?
Why bade ye elfe, ye pow'rs! her foul afpire
Above the vulgar flight of low defire ?
Ambition firft fprung from your blest abodes ;
The glorious fault of Angels and of Gods:
Thence to their images on earth it flows,
And in the breafts of Kings and Heroes glows."
Moft fouls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age,
Dull fallen pris'ners in the body's cage:
Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years
Useless, unfeen, as lamps in fepulchres;
Like Eastern Kings a lazy ftate they keep,
And, clofe confin'd to their own palace, fleep.
From these perhaps (ere nature bade her die)
Fate fnatch'd her early to the pitying fky.
As into air the purer fpirits flow,

And fep'rate from their kindred dregs below;
So flew the foul to its congenial place,

Nor left one virtue to redeem her race.

But thou, falfe guardian of a charge too good,
Thou, mean deferter of thy brother's blood!
See on these ruby lips the trembling breath,"
These cheeks, now fading at the blast of death ;
Cold is that breaft which warm'd the world before,
And thofe love-darting eyes must roll no more.
Thus, if Eternal Juftice rules the ball,

Thus fhall your wives, and thus your children fall:

On

On all the line a fudden vengeance waits,
And frequent hearfes fhall befiage your gates.
There paffengers fhall ftand, and painting fay,
(While the long fun'rals blacken all the way),
Lo these were they, whofe fouls the Furies fteel'd
And curs'd with hearts unknowing how to yield.
Thus unlamented pafs, the proud away,

The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day !.
So perifh all,, whofe breaft ne'er learn'd to glow
For others good, or melt at others won duri

What can atone (oh ever-injur'd shade!)
Thy fate unpity'd, and thy rites, unpaid ?fo!
No friends complaint, no kind domeftic.tear
Pleas'd thy pale ghoft,, or grag'd thy mournful hier:
By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd
By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'd,
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd,
By ftrangers honour'd, and by ftrangers mourn'd
What tho' no friends in fable weeds appear
Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year,
And bear about the mockery of woe

To midnight dances, and the public.show?id
What tho' no weeping Loves thy ashes grace,
Nor polish'd marble emulate thy face?
What tho' no facred earth allow thee room,
Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy, tomb?
Yet fhall thy grave with rifing flow'rs be dreft,
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breaft:
There fhall the morn her earliest tears beftow
There the first rofes of the year fhall blow;
While Angels with their filver wings o'erflade
The ground, now facred by thy reliques made.

1.

So