The youth a power his purposed boon to crave, Yet not in terms direct—“My name,” quoth he, “Is Thomas Bethel; you have heard of me”— “Not good nor evil, Thomas—had I need Of so much knowledge;—but pray now proceed.”— “Dyson’s my mother’s name; but I have not That interest with you, and the worse my lot. I serve my Uncle James, and run and write, 940 And watch and work from morning until night; Confined among the looms, and webs, and wheels, You cannot think how like a slave one feels. ’Tis said you have a ship at your command— An’ please you, sir, I’m weary of the land, And I have read of foreign parts such things As make me sick of Uncle’s wheels and springs.” “But, Thomas, why to sea? you look too slim For that rough work—and, Thomas, can you swim?” That he could not, but still he scorn’d a lie, 950 And boldly answer’d, “No, but I can try.”— “Well, my good lad, but tell me, can you read?” Now, with some pride he answer’d, “Yes, indeed! I construe Virgil, and our usher said, I might have been in Homer had I staid; And he was sorry when I came away, And so was I, but Uncle would not pay; He told the master I had read enough, And Greek was all unprofitable stuff; So all my learning now is thrown away, 960 And I’ve no time for study or for play; I’m ordered here and there, above, below, And call’d a dunce for what I cannot know; Oh, that I were but from this bondage free! Do, please your honour, let me go to sea.”— “But why to sea? they want no Latin there; Hard is their work, and very hard their fare.” “But then,” said Thomas, “if on land, I doubt My Uncle Dyson soon would find me out; And, though he tells me what I yearly cost, 970 ’Tis my belief he’d miss me were I lost. For he has said, that I can act as well As he himself—but this you must not tell.”— “Tell, Thomas! no, I scorn the base design, Give me your hand, I pledge my word with mine; And, if I cannot do thee good, my friend, Thou may’st at least upon that word depend. And hark ye, lad, thy worthy name retain To the last hour, or I shall help in vain; And then the more severe and hard thy part, 980 Thine the more praise, and thine the happier art. We meet again—farewell!”—and Thomas went Forth to his tasks, half angry, half content. “I never ask’d for help,” thought he, “but twice, And all they then would give me was advice; My Uncle Doctor, when I begg’d his aid, Bade me work on, and never be afraid, But still be good; and I’ve been good so long, I’m half persuaded that they tell me wrong. And now this Captain still repeats the same; 990 But who can live upon a virtuous name, Starving and praised?—‘have patience—patience still!’ He said, and smiled; and, if I can, I will.” So Thomas rested with a mind intent On what the Captain by his kindness meant. Again the invited party all attend,