Laid with long sticks upon the soft green bed, And printed tables on the wall beside— “Oh! what are these?” the wondering Peter cried. “This, my good lad, is call’d the Billiard-room,” Answer’d his guide; “and here the gentry come, And with these maces and these cues they play, At their spare time, or in a rainy day.” “And what this chequer’d box?—for play, I guess?”— “You judge it right; ’tis for the game of Chess. 490 There! take your time, examine what you will, There’s King, Queen, Knight—it is a game of skill: And these are Bishops; you the difference see.”— “What! do they make a game of _them_?” quoth he.— “Bishops, like Kings,” she said, “are here but names; Not that I answer for their Honours’ games.” All round the house did Peter go, and found Food for his wonder all the house around. There guns of various bore, and rods, and lines, And all that man for deed of death designs, 500 In beast, or bird, or fish, or worm, or fly— } Life in these last must means of death supply; } The living bait is gorged, and both the victims die. } “God gives man leave his creatures to destroy.”— “What! for his sport?” replied the pitying Boy.— “Nay,” said the Lady, “why the sport condemn? As die they must, ’tis much the same to them.” Peter had doubts; but with so kind a friend He would not on a dubious point contend. Much had he seen, and every thing he saw 510 Excited pleasure not unmix’d with awe. Leaving each room, he turn’d as if once more To enjoy the pleasure that he felt before— “What then must their possessors feel? how grand And happy they who can such joys command! For they may pleasures all their lives pursue, The winter pleasures, and the summer’s too— Pleasures for every hour in every day— Oh! how their time must pass in joy away!” So Peter said.—Replied the courteous Dame: 520 “What you call pleasure scarcely owns the name. The very changes of amusement prove There’s nothing that deserves a lasting love. They hunt, they course, they shoot, they fish, they game; The objects vary, though the end the same— A search for that which flies them; no, my Boy! ’Tis not enjoyment, ’tis pursuit of joy.” Peter was thoughtful—thinking, What! not these, Who can command, or purchase, what they please— Whom many serve, who only speak the word, 530 And they have all that earth or seas afford— All that can charm the mind and please the eye— And _they_ not happy!—but I’ll ask her why. So Peter ask’d.—“’Tis not,” she said, “for us, Their Honours’ inward feelings to discuss; But, if they’re happy, they would still confess ’Tis not these things that make their happiness. “Look from this window! at his work behold Yon gardener’s helper—he is poor and old, He not one thing of all you see can call 540 His own; but, haply, he o’erlooks them all.