They freely spoke of their affairs and men, They thought with pleasure of the sum improved, And so presented to the men they loved. “Things now proceeded in a quiet train; No cause appear’d to murmur or complain; The monied man, his ever-smiling dame, And their young darlings, in their carriage came. Jane’s sprightly lover smiled their pomp to see, And ate their grapes, with gratitude and glee; But with the freedom there was nothing mean, 400 Humble, or forward, in his freedom seen; His was the frankness of a mind that shows It knows itself, nor fears for what it knows. But Lucy’s ever humble friend was awed By the profusion he could not applaud; He seem’d indeed reluctant to partake Of the collation that he could not make; And this was pleasant in the maiden’s view,-- Was modesty--was moderation too; Though Jane esteem’d it meanness; and she saw 410 Fear in that prudence, avarice in that awe. “But both the lovers now to town are gone; By business one is call’d, by duty one; While rumour rises--whether false or true The ladies knew not--it was known to few-- But fear there was, and on their guardian-friend They for advice and comfort would depend When rose the day; meantime from Belmont-place Came vile report, predicting quick disgrace. “’Twas told--the servants, who had met to thank 420 Their lord for placing money in his Bank-- Their kind free master, who such wages gave, And then increased whatever they could save-- They who had heard they should their savings lose, Were weeping, swearing, drinking at the news; And still the more they drank, the more they wept, And swore, and rail’d, and threatened, till they slept. “The morning truth confirm’d the evening dread; The Bank was broken, and the Banker fled; But left a promise that his friends should have, 430 To the last shilling--what his fortunes gave. “The evil tidings reach’d the sister-pair, And one like Sorrow look’d, and one Despair; They from each other turn’d th’ afflicting look, And loth and late the painful silence broke. “‘The odious villain!’ Jane in wrath began; In pity Lucy, ‘the unhappy man! When time and reason our affliction heal, How will the author of our sufferings feel?’ “‘And let him feel, my sister--let the woes 440 That he creates be bane to his repose! Let them be felt in his expiring hour, When death brings all his dread, and sin its power: Then let the busy foe of mortals state The pangs he caused, his own to aggravate! “‘Wretch! when our life was glad, our prospers gay, With savage hand to sweep them all away! And he must know it--know when he beguiled His easy victims--how the villain smiled! “‘Oh! my dear Lucy, could I see him crave 450