Introduction to Programming Using Python 1st

Edition Schneider Solutions Manual download

https://testbankdeal.com/product/introduction-to-programming-
using-python-1st-edition-schneider-solutions-manual/

Find test banks or solution manuals at testbankdeal.com today!

Here are some recommended products for you. Click the link to
download, or explore more at testbankdeal.com

Introduction to Programming Using Python 1st Edition

Schneider Test Bank

https://testbankdeal.com/product/introduction-to-programming-using-
python-1st-edition-schneider-test-bank/

Introduction to Programming Using Visual Basic 10th

Edition Schneider Solutions Manual

https://testbankdeal.com/product/introduction-to-programming-using-
visual-basic-10th-edition-schneider-solutions-manual/

Introduction to Programming Using Visual Basic 2012 9th

Edition Schneider Solutions Manual

https://testbankdeal.com/product/introduction-to-programming-using-
visual-basic-2012-9th-edition-schneider-solutions-manual/

Consumer Behaviour Asia Pacific 1st Edition Hoyer

Solutions Manual

https://testbankdeal.com/product/consumer-behaviour-asia-pacific-1st-
edition-hoyer-solutions-manual/
Discovering Psychology 7th Edition Hockenbury Test Bank

https://testbankdeal.com/product/discovering-psychology-7th-edition-
hockenbury-test-bank/

Listen 8th Edition Kerman Test Bank

https://testbankdeal.com/product/listen-8th-edition-kerman-test-bank/

Data Abstraction and Problem Solving with C++ Walls and

Mirrors 7th Edition Carrano Test Bank

https://testbankdeal.com/product/data-abstraction-and-problem-solving-
with-c-walls-and-mirrors-7th-edition-carrano-test-bank/

Operations Management Processes and Supply Chains 12th

Edition Krajewski Test Bank

https://testbankdeal.com/product/operations-management-processes-and-
supply-chains-12th-edition-krajewski-test-bank/

Using MIS 3rd Edition Kroenke Test Bank

https://testbankdeal.com/product/using-mis-3rd-edition-kroenke-test-
bank/
Accounting Information Systems The Processes Controls 2nd
Edition Turner Solutions Manual

https://testbankdeal.com/product/accounting-information-systems-the-
processes-controls-2nd-edition-turner-solutions-manual/
Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
Have at some time, the Power of Virtue known,
And found the Joy they gave promote their own.
Our Knight relenting, now befriends the Youth,
Who took the Maid, with Innocence and Truth;
And finds in that fair deed a sacred Joy,
That will not perish and that cannot cloy;—
A living Joy, that shall its vigour keep,
When Beauty all decays, and all the Passions sleep.
 PART III.

BURIALS.
ARGUMENT.
True Christian Resignation not frequently to be seen.—The Register a
melancholy Record.—A dying Man, who at length sends for a Priest: for
what Purpose? answered.—Old Collett, of the Inn, an instance of Dr.
Young’s slow-sudden Death: his Character and Conduct.—The Manners
and Management of the Widow Goe: her successful Attention to Business:
her Decease unexpected.—The Infant-Boy of Gerard Ablett dies:
Reflections on his Death, and the Survivor his Sister-Twin.—The Funeral
of the Deceased Lady of the Manor described: her neglected Mansion:
Undertaker and Train: the Character which her Monument will hereafter
display.—Burial of an antient Maiden: some former Drawback on her
Virgin-fame: Description of her House and Household: Her Manners,
Apprehensions, Death.—Isaac Ashford, a virtuous Peasant, dies: his
manly Character: Reluctance to enter the Poor-House; and why.—
Misfortune and Derangement of Intellect in Robin Dingley: whence they
proceeded: He is not restrained by Misery from a wandering Life: his
various Returns to his Parish: his final Return.—Wife of Farmer
Frankford, dies in prime of Life: Affliction in consequence of such Death:
melancholy View of her House, &c. on her Family’s Return from her
Funeral: Address to Sorrow.—Leah Cousins, a Midwife: her Character;
and successful Practice: at length opposed by Doctor Glib: Opposition in
the Parish: Argument of the Doctor; of Leah; her Failure and Decease.—
Burial of Roger Cuff, a Sailor: his Enmity to his Family; how it
originated: his Experiment, and its consequence.—The Register
terminates.—A Bell heard: Inquiry for whom? The Sexton.—Character of
Old Dibble, and the five Rectors whom he served.—Reflections.—
Conclusion.
 THE

PARISH REGISTER.
PART III.
Burials.

Qui vultus Acherontis atri,

Qui Stygia tristem, non tristis, videt,—
——————————
Par ille Regi, par Superis erit.
Seneca in Agamem.
There was, ’tis said, and I believe, a Time,
When humble Christians died with views sublime;
When all were ready for their Faith to bleed,
But few to write or wrangle for their Creed;
When lively Faith upheld the sinking Heart,
And Friends, assur’d to meet, prepar’d to part;
When Love felt Hope, when Sorrow grew serene,
And all was comfort in the Death-bed scene.
Alas! when now the gloomy King they wait,
’Tis Weakness yielding to resistless Fate;
Like wretched Men upon the Ocean cast,
They labour hard and struggle to the last;
“Hope against Hope,” and wildly gaze around,
In search of Help that never shall be found;
Nor, till the last strong Billow stops the Breath,
Will they believe them in the jaws of Death!

When these my Records I reflecting read,

And find what Ills these numerous Births succeed;
What powerful Griefs these Nuptial Ties attend,
With what regret these painful Journeys end;
When from the Cradle to the Grave I look,
Mine I conceive a melancholy Book.
Where now is perfect Resignation seen?
Alas! it is not on the Village-Green;——
I’ve seldom known, though I have often read
Of, happy Peasants on their Dying-bed;
Whose Looks proclaim’d that Sunshine of the Breast,
That more than Hope, that Heav’n itself express’d.
What I behold are feverish fits of Strife,
’Twixt fears of Dying and desire of Life;
Those earthly Hopes, that to the last endure;
Those Fears, that Hopes superior fail to cure;
At best a sad submission to the Doom,
Which, turning from the Danger, lets it come.
 Sick lies the Man, bewilder’d, lost, afraid,
His Spirits vanquish’d and his Strength decay’d;
No Hope the Friend, the Nurse, the Doctor lend—
“Call then a Priest and fit him for his End.”
A Priest is call’d, ’tis now, alas! too late,
Death enters with him at the Cottage-gate;
Or Time allow’d—he goes, assur’d to find,
The self-commending, all-confiding Mind;
And sighs to hear what we may justly call,
Death’s Common-Place, the Train of Thought in all.
“True, I’m a Sinner,” feebly he begins,—
“But trust in Mercy to forgive my Sins:”
(Such cool Confession no past Crimes excite!
Such Claim on Mercy, as a Sinner’s Right!)
“I know, Mankind are frail, that God is just,
“And pardons those who in his Mercy trust;
“We’re sorely tempted in a World like this,
“All Men have done, and I like all, amiss;
“But now, if spar’d, it is my full intent,
“On all the past to ponder and repent;
“Wrongs against me I pardon great and small,
“And if I die, I die in peace with all.”
His Merits thus and not his Sins confest,
He speaks his Hopes and leaves to Heav’n the rest.
Alas! are these the Prospects, dull and cold,
That dying Christians to their Priests unfold?
Or mends the Prospect when th’ Enthusiast cries,
“I die assur’d!” and in a Rapture dies?
Ah, where that humble, self-abasing Mind,
With that confiding Spirit shall we find;
The Mind that feeling what Repentance brings,
Dejection’s terrors and Contrition’s stings,
Has then the hope that Heav’n its grief approve
And the pure joy that flows from Pardoning Love?
Such have I seen in Death, and much deplore,
So many dying—that I see no more:
So many dying that I see no more:
Lo! now my Records, where I grieve to trace,
How Death has triumph’d in so short a space;
Who are the Dead, how died they, I relate,
And snatch some portion of their Acts from Fate.

With Andrew Collet we the Year begin,

The blind, fat Landlord of the Old Crown-Inn:
Big as his Butt and for the self-same use,
To take in stores of strong fermenting Juice.
On his huge Chair beside the Fire he sate,
In Revel Chief, and Umpire in Debate;
Each night his string of vulgar Tales he told;
When Ale was cheap and Bachelors were bold;
His Heroes all were famous in their Days,
Cheats were his boast and Drunkards had his praise;
“One in three Draughts, three Mugs of Ale took down,
“As Mugs were then—the Champion of the Crown;
“For thrice three days another liv’d on Ale,
“And knew no Change but that of Mild and Stale;
“Two thirsty Soakers watch’d a Vessel’s side,
“When he the Tap, with dextrous hand, applied;
“Nor from their seats departed, till they found,
“That Butt was out and heard the mournful Sound.”
He prais’d a Poacher, precious child of Fun!
Who shot the Keeper with his own Spring-gun;
Nor less the Smuggler who the Exciseman tied,
And left him hanging at the Birch-wood side,
There to expire;—but one who saw him hang,
Cut the good Cord—a Traitor of the Gang.
His own Exploits, with boastful glee, he told,
What Ponds he empty’d and what Pikes he sold;
And how, when blest with sight alert and gay,
The Night’s Amusements kept him through the Day.
He sang the Praises of those Times, when all
“For Cards and Dice, as for their Drink, might call;
“When Justice wink’d on every jovial Crew,
 yj ,
“And Ten-pins tumbled in the Parson’s view.”
He told, when angry Wives, provok’d to rail,
Or drive a third-day Drunkard from his Ale;
What were his Triumphs and how great the Skill,
That won the vex’d Virago to his Will;
Who raving came;—then talk’d in milder strain,—
Then wept,—then drank and pledg’d her Spouse again.
Such were his Themes: how Knaves o’er Laws prevail,
Or when made captives, how they fly from Jail;
The Young how brave, how subtle were the Old:
And Oaths attested all that Folly told.
On Death like his what name shall we bestow,
So very sudden! yet so very slow?
’Twas slow:—Disease augmenting year by year,
Show’d the grim King by gradual steps brought near:
’Twas not less sudden;—in the night he died,
He drank, he swore, he jested and he lied;
Thus aiding Folly with departing Breath:——
“Beware, Lorenzo, the slow-sudden Death.”

Next died the Widow Goe, an active Dame,

Fam’d, ten miles round, and worthy all her Fame;
She lost her Husband when their Loves were young,
But kept her Farm, her Credit and her Tongue:
Full thirty years, she rul’d with matchless Skill,
With guiding Judgment and resistless Will;
Advice she scorn’d, Rebellions she suppress’d,
And Sons and Servants bow’d at her behest.
Like that great man’s, who to his Saviour came,
Were the strong Words of this commanding Dame;—
“Come,” if she said, they came; if “go,” were gone;
And if “do this,”—that instant it was done:
Her Maidens told she was all Eye and Ear,
In Darkness saw and could at distance hear;—
No Parish-Business in the Place could stir,
Without Direction or Assent from her;
W t out ect o o sse t o e;
In turn she took each Office as it fell;
Knew all their Duties and discharg’d them well;
The lazy Vagrants in her presence shook,
And pregnant Damsels fear’d her stern Rebuke;
She look’d on Want, with Judgment, clear and cool,
And felt with Reason and bestow’d by Rule:
She match’d both Sons and Daughters to her mind,
And lent them Eyes, for Love, she heard, was blind;
Yet ceaseless still she throve, alert, alive,
The working Bee, in full or empty Hive;
Busy and careful, like that working Bee,
No time for Love nor tender Cares had she;
But when our Farmers made their amorous Vows,
She talk’d of Market-Steeds and Patent-Ploughs.
Not unemploy’d her Evenings pass’d away,
Amusement clos’d, as Business wak’d the Day;
When to her Toilet’s brief Concern she ran,
And conversation with her Friends, began;
Who all were welcome at her Board to share,
And joyous Neighbours prais’d her Christmas Fare;
That none around might, in their scorn, complain
Of Gossip Goe as greedy in her Gain.
Thus long she reign’d, admir’d, if not approv’d;
Prais’d, if not honour’d; fear’d, if not belov’d;—
When, as the busy Days of Spring drew near,
That call’d for all the Forecast of the Year;
When lively Hope the rising Crops survey’d,
And April promis’d what September pay’d;
When stray’d her Lambs where Gorse and Greenweed grow;
When rose her Grass in richer Vales below;
When pleas’d she look’d on all the smiling Land, }
And view’d the Hinds, who wrought at her command, }
As Bridget churn’d the Butter for her Hand; }
(Geese, Hens, and Turkeys following where she went;)
Then, Dread o’ercame her,—that her Days were spent.
“Bless me! I die and not a Warning giv’n,—
 ess e! d e a d ot a Wa ggv ,
“With much to do on Earth and ALL for Heav’n!
“No Reparation for my Soul’s Affairs,
“No Leave petition’d for the Barn’s Repairs;
“Accounts perplex’d, my Interest yet unpaid,
“My Mind unsettled and my Will unmade;—
“A Lawyer haste, and in your way, a Priest;
“And let me die in one good Work at least.”
She spake and, trembling, dropp’d upon her knees,
Heaven in her Eye and in her Hand her Keys:
And still the more she found her Life decay,
With greater force she grasp’d those Signs of Sway:
Then fell and died!... In haste her Sons drew near,
And dropp’d, in haste, the tributary Tear,
Then from th’ adhering Clasp the Keys unbound,
And Consolation for their Sorrows, found.

Death has his Infant-train; his bony Arm

Strikes from the Baby-cheek the rosy Charm;
The brightest Eye his glazing Film makes dim,
And his cold Touch sets fast the lithest limb:
He seiz’d the sick’ning Boy to Gerard lent,[10]
When three Days’ Life, in feeble Cries, were spent;
In Pain brought forth, those painful Hours to stay,
To breathe in Pain and sigh its Soul away!
“But why thus lent, if thus recall’d again,
“To cause and feel, to live and die in, Pain?”
Or rather say, Why grievous these appear,
If all it pays for Heaven’s eternal Year;
If these sad Sobs and piteous Sighs secure
Delights that live, when Worlds no more endure?
The Sister-spirit long may lodge below,
And Pains from Nature, Pains from Reason, know;
Through all the common Ills of Life may run,
By Hope perverted and by Love undone;
A Wife’s Distress, a Mother’s Pangs, may dread,
And Widow-tears in bitter Anguish shed;
And Widow-tears, in bitter Anguish, shed;
May at Old Age arrive through numerous Harms,
With Children’s Children in those feeble Arms;
Nor till by Years of Want and Grief opprest,
Shall the sad Spirit flee and be at rest!
Yet happier therefore shall we deem the Boy,
Secur’d from anxious Care and dangerous Joy?
Not so! for then would Love Divine, in vain
Send all the Burthens, weary Men sustain;
All that now curb the Passions when they rage,
The Checks of Youth and the Regrets of Age;
All that now bid us hope, believe, endure,
Our Sorrow’s Comfort and our Vice’s Cure;
All that for Heaven’s high Joys the Spirits train,
And Charity, the Crown of all, were vain.
Blest is the Nurseling never taught to sing,
But thrust untimely from its Mother’s Wing;
Or the grown Warbler, who, with grateful Voice,
Sings its own Joy and makes the Grove rejoice;
Because, ere yet he charm’d th’ attentive Ear,
Hard were his Trials and his Pains severe!

Next died the Lady who yon Hall possess’d;

And here they brought her noble Bones to rest.
In Town she dwelt;—forsaken stood the Hall.
Worms ate the Floors, the Tap’stry fled the Wall:
No Fire the Kitchen’s cheerless Grate display’d;
No cheerful Light the long-clos’d Sash convey’d!
The crawling Worm that turns a Summer-fly,
Here spun his Shroud and laid him up to die
The Winter-death:—upon the Bed of State,
The Batt shrill-shrieking woo’d his flickering Mate:
To empty Rooms the Curious came no more, }
From empty Cellars turn’d the angry Poor, }
And surly Beggars curs’d the ever-bolted Door. }
To one small Room the Steward found his way,
Where Tenants follow’d to complain and pay;
Where Tenants follow d to complain and pay;
Yet no complaint before the Lady came,
The feeling Servant spar’d the feeble Dame;
Who saw her Farms with his observing Eyes,
And answer’d all Requests with his Replies:—
She came not down, her falling Groves to view;
Why should she know, what One so faithful knew?
Why come, from many clamorous Tongues to hear,
What One so just might whisper in her Ear?
Her Oaks or Acres, why with care explore;
Why learn the Wants, the Sufferings of the Poor;
When One so knowing all their Worth could trace,
And One so piteous govern’d in her Place?
Lo! now, what dismal Sons of Darkness come,
To bear this Daughter of Indulgence home;
Tragedians all and well arrang’d in Black!
Who Nature, Feeling, Force, Expression lack;—
Who cause no Tear, but gloomily pass by,
And shake their Sables in the wearied Eye,
That turns disgusted from the pompous Scene,
Proud without Grandeur, with Profusion, mean!
The Tear for Kindness past Affection owes;
For Worth deceas’d the Sigh from Reason flows;
E’en well-feign’d Passion for our Sorrows call,
And real Tears for mimic Miseries fall:—
But this poor Farce has neither Truth nor Art,
To please the Fancy or to touch the Heart;
Unlike the Darkness of the Sky, that pours
On the dry Ground its fertilizing Showers!
Unlike to that which strikes the Soul with dread,
When Thunders roar and forky Fires are shed;
Dark but not aweful, dismal but yet mean,
With anxious Bustle moves the cumbrous Scene;
Presents no Objects, tender or profound,
But spreads its cold unmeaning Gloom around.
When Woes are feign’d, how ill such forms appear,
And oh! how needless when the Woe’s sincere
And oh! how needless, when the Woe s sincere.
Slow to the Vault they come with heavy tread,
Bending beneath the Lady and her Lead;
A Case of Elm surrounds that ponderous Chest,
Close on that Case the Crimson Velvet’s press’d;
Ungenerous this, that to the Worm denies,
With niggard-caution his appointed Prize;
For now, ere yet he works his tedious way,
Through Cloth and Wood and Metal to his Prey;
That Prey dissolving shall a Mass remain,
That Fancy loaths and Worms themselves disdain.
But see! the Master-Mourner makes his way,
To end his Office for the coffin’d Clay;
Pleas’d that our Rustic Men and Maids behold
His Plate like Silver, and his Studds like Gold;
As they approach to spell the Age, the Name,
And all the Titles of th’ illustrious Dame.—
This as (my Duty done) some Scholar read,
A Village-Father look’d disdain and said:
“Away, my Friends! why take such pains to know,
“What some brave Marble soon in Church shall show:
“Where not alone her gracious Name shall stand,
“But how she liv’d the Blessing of the Land;
“How much we all deplor’d the noble Dead,
“What Groans we utter’d and what Tears we shed;
“Tears, true as those, which in the sleepy Eyes
“Of weeping Cherubs on the Stone shall rise:
“Tears, true as those, which, ere she found her Grave,
“The noble Lady to our Sorrows gave.”—
Down by the Church-way-Walk and where the Brook
Winds round the Chancel like a Shepherd’s Crook;
In that small House, with those green Pales before,
Where Jasmine trails on either side the Door;
Where those dark Shrubs that now grow wild at will,
Were clipt in form and tantaliz’d with skill;
Where Cockles blanch’d and Pebbles neatly spread,
Form’d shining Borders for the Larkspurs’ Bed;
Form d shining Borders for the Larkspurs Bed;—
There liv’d a Lady, wise, austere and nice,
Who shew’d her Virtue by her Scorn of Vice;
In the dear Fashions of her Youth she dress’d,
A pea-green Joseph was her favourite Vest;
Erect she stood, she walk’d with stately Mien,
Tight was her length of Stays and she was tall and lean.
There long she liv’d in Maiden-state immur’d,
From Looks of Love and treacherous Man secur’d:
Though Evil-fame—(but that was long before)
Had blown her dubious Blast at Catharine’s Door:
A Captain thither, rich from India came,
And though a Cousin call’d, it touch’d her Fame;
Her annual Stipend rose from his Behest,
And all the long-priz’d Treasures, she possess’d:—
If aught like Joy a while appear’d to stay,
In that stern Face and chase those Frowns away;
’Twas when her Treasures she dispos’d for view,
And heard the Praises, to their Splendour due;
Silks beyond Price, so rich they’d stand alone,
And Diamonds blazing on the buckled Zone;
Rows of rare Pearls by curious Workmen set,
And Bracelets fair in Box of glossy Jet;
Bright polish’d Amber precious from its Size,
Or forms, the fairest Fancy could devise;
Her Drawers of Cedar shut with secret Springs,
Conceal’d the Watch of Gold and rubied Rings;
Letters, long Proofs of Love and Verses fine
Round the pink’d Rims of crisped Valentine.
Her China-Closet, cause of daily Care,
For Woman’s Wonder held her pencill’d Ware;
That pictur’d Wealth of China and Japan,
Like its cold Mistress, shunn’d the Eye of Man.
Her neat small Room, adorn’d with Maiden-taste,
A clipt French-Puppey first of Favourites grac’d.
A Parrot next, but dead and stuff’d with Art;
(For Poll when living lost the Lady’s Heart
(For Poll, when living, lost the Lady s Heart,
And then his Life; for he was heard to speak
Such frightful Words as tinge’d his Lady’s Cheek;)
Unhappy Bird! who had no power to prove,
Save by such Speech, his Gratitude and Love.
A grey old Cat his Whiskers lick’d beside;
A type of Sadness in the House of Pride.
The polish’d Surface of an India-Chest,
A glassy Globe, in Frame of Ivory, prest;
Where swam two finny Creatures; one of Gold,
Of Silver one; both beauteous to behold:
All these were form’d the guiding Taste to suit;
The Beasts well-manner’d and the Fishes mute.
A widow’d Aunt was there, compell’d by Need,
The Nymph to flatter and her Tribe to feed;
Who, veiling well her Scorn, endur’d the Clog,
Mute as the Fish and fawning as the Dog.
As Years increas’d, these Treasures her Delight,
Arose in Value in their Owner’s sight:—
A Miser knows that, view it as he will,
A Guinea kept is but a Guinea still:
And so he puts it to its proper Use,
That something more this Guinea may produce:
But Silks and Rings in the Possessor’s Eyes,
The oft’ner seen, the more in Value rise,
And thus are wisely hoarded to bestow,
On Pride that governs, Pleasure that will grow.
But what avail’d their Worth,—if Worth had they,—
In the sad Summer of her slow Decay?
Then we beheld her turn an anxious Look
From Trunks and Chests, and fix it on her Book;
A rich-bound Book of Prayer the Captain gave,
(Some Princess had it, or was said to have,)
And then once more on all her Stores, look round
And draw a sigh so piteous and profound,
That told, “Alas! how hard from these to part,
“And for new Hopes and Habits form the Heart!
 And for new Hopes and Habits form the Heart!
“What shall I do (she cried) my Peace of Mind,
“To gain in dying and to die resign’d?”
‘Hear,’ we return’d;—‘these Bawbles cast aside,
‘Nor give thy God a Rival in thy Pride;
‘Thy Closets shut and ope thy Kitchen’s Door;
‘There own thy Failings, here invite the Poor;
‘A friend of Mammon let thy Bounty make, }
‘For Widow’s Prayers, thy Vanities forsake; }
‘And let the Hungry of thy Pride, partake: }
‘Then shall thy inward Eye with joy survey,
‘The Angel Mercy tempering Death’s Delay!’
Alas! ’twas hard; the Treasures still had Charms,
Hope still its Flattery, Sickness its Alarms;
Still was the same unsettled, clouded View,
And the same plaintive Cry, “What shall I do?”
Nor Change appear’d: for, when her Race was run
Doubtful we all exclaim’d, “What has been done?”
Apart she liv’d and still she lies alone;
Yon earthly Heap awaits the flattering Stone,
On which Invention shall be long employ’d
To shew the various Worth of Catharine Lloyd.

Next to these Ladies, but in nought allied,

A noble Peasant, Isaac Ashford, died.
Noble he was, contemning all things mean,
His Truth unquestion’d and his Soul serene:
Of no man’s presence Isaac felt afraid;
At no Man’s question, Isaac look’d dismay’d:
Shame knew him not, he dreaded no Disgrace;
Truth, simple Truth, was written in his Face;
Yet while the serious Thought his Soul approv’d,
Cheerful he seem’d and Gentleness he lov’d:
To Bliss domestic he his Heart resign’d,
And with the firmest, had the fondest Mind:
Were others joyful, he look’d smiling on,
A d All h h d d
And gave Allowance where he needed none;
Good he refus’d with future Ill to buy,
Nor knew a Joy that caus’d Reflection’s Sigh;
A Friend to Virtue, his unclouded Breast
No Envy stung, no Jealousy distress’d;
(Bane of the Poor! it wounds their weaker Mind,
To miss one Favour, which their Neighbours find:)
Yet far was he from Stoic-pride remov’d;
He felt humanely, and he warmly lov’d:
I mark’d his Action, when his Infant died,
And his old Neighbour for Offence was tried;
The still Tears, stealing down that furrow’d Cheek,
Spoke Pity, plainer than the Tongue can speak.
If Pride were his, ’twas not their Vulgar Pride,
Who, in their base Contempt, the Great deride;
Nor Pride in Learning, though my Clerk agreed,
If Fate should call him, Ashford might succeed;
Nor Pride in Rustic-skill, although we knew,
None his Superior, and his Equals, few:
But if that Spirit in his Soul had place,
It was the jealous Pride that shuns Disgrace;
A Pride in honest Fame, by Virtue gain’d,
In sturdy Boys to virtuous Labours train’d;
Pride, in the Power that guards his Country’s Coast,
And all that Englishmen enjoy and boast;
Pride, in a Life that Slander’s Tongue defy’d,
In fact, a noble Passion, misnam’d Pride.
He had no party’s Rage, no Sect’ry’s Whim;
Christian and Countryman was all with him:
True to his Church he came; no Sunday-Shower,
Kept him at home in that important Hour;
Nor his firm Feet could one persuading Sect,
By the strong glare of their new Light direct;
“On hope, in mine own sober Light, I gaze,
“But should be blind and lose it, in your Blaze.”
In Times severe, when many a sturdy Swain,
F lt it hi P id hi C f t t l i
Felt it his Pride, his Comfort, to complain;
Isaac their Wants would soothe, his own would hide,
And feel in that, his Comfort and his Pride.
At length, he found, when Seventy Years were run,
His Strength departed and his Labour done;
When, save his honest Fame, he kept no more;
But lost his Wife and saw his Children poor;
’Twas then, a Spark of—say not Discontent—
Struck on his Mind and thus he gave it vent:—
“Kind are your Laws, (’tis not to be denied,)
“That in yon House, for ruin’d Age, provide,
“And they are just;—when young, we give you all,
“And then for Comforts in our Weakness call.—
“Why then this proud Reluctance to be fed,
“To join your Poor and eat the Parish-Bread?
“But yet I linger, loath with him to feed,
“Who gains his Plenty by the Sons of Need;
“He who, by Contract, all your Paupers took,
“And guages Stomachs with an anxious Look:
“On some old Master I could well depend;
“See him with joy and thank him as a Friend;
“But ill on him, who doles the Day’s Supply,
“And counts our Chances, who at Night may die:
“Yet help me Heav’n! and let me not complain
“Of what befalls me, but the fate sustain.”
Such were his Thoughts, and so resign’d he grew;
Daily he plac’d the Workhouse in his view!
But came not there, for sudden was his Fate,
He dropp’d expiring, at his Cottage-gate.
I feel his Absence in the Hours of Prayer,
And view his Seat and sigh for Isaac there;
I see no more those white Locks thinly spread,
Round the bald Polish of that honour’d Head;
No more that aweful Glance on playful Wight
Compell’d to kneel and tremble at the sight;
To fold his Fingers all in dread the while,
Till Mi t A hf d ft ’d t S il
Till Mister Ashford soften’d to a Smile;
No more that meek and suppliant Look in Prayer,
Nor the pure Faith (to give it force) are there:—
But he is blest and I lament no more,
A wise good Man contented to be poor.

Then died a Rambler; not the One who sails

And trucks, for Female Favours, Beads and Nails;
Not One, who posts from place to place—of Men
And Manners treating with a flying Pen:
Not he, who climbs, for Prospects, Snowden’s Height,
And chides the Clouds that intercept the Sight;
No curious Shell, rare Plant or brilliant Spar,
Intic’d our Traveller, from his Home, so far;
But all the Reason, by himself assign’d
For so much Rambling, was, a restless Mind;
As on, from place to place, without intent,
Without Reflection, Robin Dingley went.
Not thus by Nature:—never Man was found
Less prone to wander from his Parish-bound;
Claudian’s old Man, to whom all Scenes were new,
Save those where he and where his Apples grew,
Resembled Robin, who around would look,
And his Horizon, for the Earth’s mistook.
To this poor Swain a keen Attorney came;—
“I give thee joy, good Fellow! on thy Name;
“The rich old Dingley’s dead;—no Child has he,
“Nor Wife nor Will; his ALL is left for thee;
“To be his Fortune’s Heir thy Claim is good;
“Thou hast the Name and we will prove the Blood.”
The Claim was made; ’twas tried, it would not stand;
They prov’d the Blood, but were refus’d the Land.
Assur’d of Wealth, this Man of simple Heart,
To every Friend had predispos’d a Part;
His Wife, had Hopes indulg’d of various kind;
The three Miss Dingley’s had their School assign’d,
Masters were sought for what each Miss requir’d
Masters were sought for what each Miss requir d,
And Books were bought and Harpsichords were hir’d;
So high was Hope:—the Failure touch’d his Brain,
And Robin never was himself again:
Yet he no wrath, no angry wish express’d,
But tried in vain, to labour or to rest;
Then cast his Bundle on his back, and went
He knew not whither nor for what Intent.
Years fled;—of Robin all Remembrance past,
When home he wander’d in his Rags at last:
A Sailor’s Jacket on his Limbs was thrown,
A Sailor’s Story he had made his own;
Had suffer’d Battles, Prisons, Tempests, Storms,
Encountering Death in all his ugliest forms;
His Cheeks were haggard, hollow was his Eye,
Where Madness lurk’d, conceal’d in Misery;
Want, and th’ ungentle World, had taught a part,
And prompted Cunning to that simple Heart:
“He now bethought him, he would roam no more,
“But live at Home and labour as before.”
Here cloth’d and fed, no sooner he began
To round and redden, than away he ran:
His Wife was dead, their Children past his aid;
So, unmolested from his Home he stray’d:
Six Years elasp’d, when, worn with Want and Pain,
Came Robin, wrapt in all his Rags, again:—
We chide, we pity;—plac’d among our Poor,
He fed again and was a Man once more.
As when a gaunt and hungry Fox is found,
Entrapp’d alive in some rich Hunter’s ground;
Fed for the Field, although each Day’s a Feast,
Fatten you may, but never tame the Beast;
An House protects him, savoury Viands sustain;
But loose his neck and off he goes again:
So stole our Vagrant from his warm Retreat,
To rove a Prowler and be deem’d a Cheat.
Hard was his Fare: for him at length we saw
 Hard was his Fare: for, him at length we saw,
In Cart convey’d and laid supine on Straw:
His feeble Voice now spoke a sinking Heart;
His Groans now told the Motions of the Cart:
And thus he rose, but tried in vain to stand;
Clos’d was his Eye and clench’d his clammy Hand;
Life ebb’d apace and our best Aid, no more,
Could his weak Sense or dying Heart restore:—
But now he fell, a Victim to the Snare,
That vile Attorneys for the Weak prepare;—
They who, when Profit or Resentment call,
Heed not the groaning Victim they enthrall.

Then died lamented, in the Strength of Life,

A valued Mother and a faithful Wife;
Call’d not away, when Time had loos’d each Hold
On the fond Heart and each Desire grew cold;
But when, to all that knit us to our Kind,
She felt fast-bound, as Charity can bind;—
Not when the Ills of Age, its Pain, its Care,
The drooping Spirit for its Fate prepare;
And, each Affection failing, leaves the Heart
Loos’d from Life’s Charm and willing to depart;—
But ALL her Ties the strong Invader broke,
In all their Strength, by one tremendous Stroke!
Sudden and swift the eager Pest came on,
And all was Terror, till all Hope was gone;
Was silent Terror, where that Hope grew weak,
Look’d on the Sick and was asham’d to speak.—
Slowly they bore, with solemn Step, the Dead;
When Grief grew loud and bitter Tears were shed:
My Part began; a Crowd drew near the Place,
Awe in each Eye, Alarm in every Face:
So swift the Ill! and of so fierce a kind,
That Fear with Pity, mingled in each Mind;
Friends with the Husband came their Griefs to blend;
For Good-man Frankford was to all a Friend
Welcome to our website – the perfect destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. We believe that every book holds a new world,
offering opportunities for learning, discovery, and personal growth.
That’s why we are dedicated to bringing you a diverse collection of
books, ranging from classic literature and specialized publications to
self-development guides and children's books.

More than just a book-buying platform, we strive to be a bridge

connecting you with timeless cultural and intellectual values. With an
elegant, user-friendly interface and a smart search system, you can
quickly find the books that best suit your interests. Additionally,
our special promotions and home delivery services help you save time
and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Join us on a journey of knowledge exploration, passion nurturing, and

personal growth every day!

testbankdeal.com