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, Snowd[o]n's height, And chides the clouds that intercept the sight; No curious shell, rare plant, or brilliant spar, Enticed our traveller from his home so far; 500 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. 520 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 proved the blood, but were refused the land. Assured of wealth, this man of simple heart, To every friend had predisposed a part: 530 His wife had hopes indulged of various kind; The three Miss Dingleys had their school assign'd, Masters were sought for what they each required, And books were bought and harpsichords were hired: 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. 540 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: 550 He now bethought him, he would roam no more, But live at home and labour as before. Here clothed 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 elapsed, when, worn with want and pain, Came Robin, wrapt in all his rags, again.-- We chide, we pity;--placed among our poor, He fed again, and was a man once more. 560 As when a gaunt and hungry fox is found, Entrapp'd alive in some rich hunter's ground;