The man who dwells where party-spirit reigns, May feel its triumphs, but must wear its chains; He must the friends and foes of party take For his, and suffer for his honour’s sake; When once enlisted upon either side, He must the rude septennial storm abide— A storm that when its utmost rage is gone, In cold and angry mutterings murmurs on; A slow unbending scorn, a cold disdain— Till years bring the full tempest back again. 10 Within our Borough two stiff sailors dwelt, Who both this party storm and triumph felt; Men who had talents, and were both design’d For better things, but anger made them blind. In the same year they married, and their wives Had pass’d in friendship their yet peaceful lives, And, as they married in a time of peace, Had no suspicion that their love must cease. In fact it did not; but they met by stealth, And that perhaps might keep their love in health; 20 Like children watch’d, desirous yet afraid, Their visits all were with discretion paid. One Captain, so by courtesy we call Our [hoys’] commanders—they are captains all— Had sons and daughters many; while but one The rival Captain bless’d—a darling son. Each was a burgess to his party tied, And each was fix’d, but on a different side; And he who sought his son’s pure mind to fill With wholesome food, would evil too instil. 30 The last in part succeeded—but in part— For Charles had sense, had virtue, had a heart; And he had soon the cause of Nature tried With the stern father, but this father died; Who on his death-bed thus his son address’d:— “Swear to me, Charles, and let my spirit rest— Swear to our party to be ever true, And let me die in peace—I pray thee, do.” With some reluctance, but obedience more, The weeping youth reflected, sigh’d, and swore; 40 Trembling, he swore for ever to be true, And wear no colour but the untainted Blue. This done, the Captain died in so much joy, As if he’d wrought salvation for his boy. The female friends their wishes yet retain’d, But seldom met, by female fears restrain’d; Yet in such town, where girls and boys must meet, And every house is known in every street, Charles had before, nay since his father’s death, Met, say by chance, the young Elizabeth; 50 Who was both good and graceful, and in truth Was but too pleasing to th’ observing youth; And why I know not, but the youth to her Seem’d just that being that she could prefer. Both were disposed to think that party-strife Destroy’d the happiest intercourse of life; Charles, too, his growing passion could defend— His father’s foe he call’d his mother’s friend. Mothers, indeed, he knew were ever kind; But in the Captain should he favour find? 60 He doubted this—yet could he that command Which fathers love, and few its power withstand. The mothers both agreed their joint request