Of a wrong’d woman pitying man so vile. 360 He sought an office, serves in the excise, } And every wish, but that for wealth, denies; } Wealth is the world to him, and he is worldly wise. } But disappointment in his face appears; } Care and vexation, sad regret and fears } Have fix’d on him their fangs, and done the work of years. } Yet grows he wealthy in a strange degree, And neighbours wonder how the fact can be. He lives alone, contracts a sordid air, And sees with sullen grief the cheerful pair; 370 Feels a keen pang, as he beholds the door Where peace abides, and mutters—“_I am poor!_” TALE XXII. _PREACHING AND PRACTICE._ I. _P._ What I have ask’d are questions that relate To those once known, that I might learn their fate. But there was ONE, whom though I scarcely knew, Much do I wish to learn his fortunes too. Yet what expect?—He was a rich man’s Heir, His conduct doubtful, but his prospects fair; Thoughtless and brave, extravagant and gay, Wild as the wind, and open as the day; His freaks and follies were a thousand times Brought full in view; I heard not of his crimes. 10 Like our Prince Hal, his company he chose Among the lawless, of restraint the foes; But, though to their poor pleasures he could stoop, He was not, rumour said, their victim-dupe. His mother’s Sister was a maiden prim, Pious and poor, and much in debt to him. This she repaid with volumes of reproof, And sage advice, till he would cry “Enough!” His father’s Brother no such hints allow’d— Peevish and rich, and insolent and proud, 20 Of stern, strong spirit. Him the Youth withstood, At length; “Presume not” (said he) “on our blood! Treat with politeness him whom you advise, Nor think I fear your doting prophecies!” And fame has told of many an angry word, When anger this, and that contempt had stirr’d. “Boy! thou wilt beg thy bread, I plainly see.”— “Upbraid not, Uncle! till I beg of thee.”— “Oh! thou wilt run to ruin and disgrace.”— “What! and so kind an Uncle in the place?”— 30 “Nay, for I hold thee stranger to my blood.”— “Then must I treat thee as a stranger would; For, if you throw the tie of blood aside, You must the roughness of your speech abide.”— “What! to your father’s Brother do you give A challenge?—Mercy! in what times we live!” Now, I confess, the youth who could supply Thus that poor Spinster, and could thus defy This wealthy Uncle;—who could mix with them Whom his strong sense and feeling must condemn, 40 And in their follies his amusement find, Yet never lose the vigour of his mind— A youth like this, with much we must reprove, Had something still to win esteem and love. Perhaps he lives not; but he seem’d not made To pass through life entirely in the shade.