Make even the virtuous and the humble feel: 40 They for a time must suffer, and but few Can bear their sorrows and our pity too. “Hence all these small expedients, day by day, Are used to hide the evils they betray: When, if our pity chances to be seen, } The wounded pride retorts, with anger keen, } And man’s insulted grief takes refuge in his spleen. } “When Timon’s board contains a single dish, Timon talks much of market-men and fish, Forgetful servants, and th’ infernal cook, 50 Who always spoil’d whate’er she undertook. “But say it tries us from our height to fall, Yet is not life itself a trial all? And not a virtue in the bosom lives, That gives such ready pay as patience gives; That pure submission to the ruling mind, Fix’d, but not forced; obedient, but not blind, The will of heaven to make her own she tries, Or makes her own to heaven a sacrifice. “And is there aught on earth so rich or rare, 60 Whose pleasures may with virtue’s pains compare? This fruit of patience, this the pure delight That ’tis a trial in her Judge’s sight; Her part still striving duty to sustain, Not spurning pleasure, not defying pain; Never in triumph till her race be won, And never fainting till her work be done.” With thoughts like these they reach’d the village brook, And saw a lady sitting with her book; And so engaged she heard not, till the men 70 Were at her side, nor was she frighten’d then; But to her friend, the ’squire, his smile return’d, Through which the latent sadness he discern’d. The stranger-brother at the cottage door Was now admitted, and was strange no more; Then of an absent sister he was told, Whom they were not at present to behold; Something was said of nerves, and that disease, Whose varying powers on mind and body seize, Enfeebling both!--Here chose they to remain 80 One hour in peace, and then return’d again. “I know not why,” said Richard, “but I feel The warmest pity on my bosom steal For that dear maid! How well her looks express For this world’s good a cherish’d hopelessness! A resignation that is so entire, It feels not now the stirrings of desire; What now to her is all the world esteems? She is awake, and cares not for its dreams; But moves while yet on earth, as one above 90 Its hopes and fears--it[s] loathing and its love. “But shall I learn,” said he, “these sisters’ fate?”-- And found his brother willing to relate. * * * * *