Must you, my friends, no longer stay? Thus quickly all my pleasures end; But I'll remember when I pray, My kind physician and his friend; And those sad hours, you deign to spend With me, I shall requite them all; Sir Eustace for his friends shall send, And thank their love at Greyling Hall. VISITOR. The poor Sir Eustace!--Yet his hope Leads him to think of joys again; And when his earthly visions droop, His views of heavenly kind remain: But whence that meek and humbled strain, That spirit wounded, lost, resign'd? Would not so proud a soul disdain The madness of the poorest mind? PHYSICIAN. No! for the more he swell'd with pride, The more he felt misfortune's blow; Disgrace and grief he could not hide, And poverty had laid him low: Thus shame and sorrow working slow, At length this humble spirit gave; Madness on these began to grow, And bound him to his fiends a slave. Though the wild thoughts had touch'd his brain, Then was he free: --So, forth he ran; To soothe or threat, alike were vain: He spake of fiends; look'd wild and wan; Year after year, the hurried man Obey'd those fiends from place to place; Till his religious change began To form a frenzied child of grace. For, as the fury lost its strength, The mind reposed; by slow degrees Came lingering hope, and brought at length, To the tormented spirit, ease: This slave of sin, whom fiends could seize, Felt or believed their power had end: - "'Tis faith," he cried, "my bosom frees, And now my SAVIOUR is my friend." But ah! though time can yield relief, And soften woes it cannot cure; Would we not suffer pain and grief, To have our reason sound and sure? Then let us keep our bosoms pure, Our fancy's favourite flights suppress; Prepare the body to endure, And bend the mind to meet distress; And then HIS guardian care implore, Whom demons dread and men adore. "THE HALL OF JUSTICE", IN TWO PARTS. PART I. Confiteor facere hoc annos; sed et altera causa est, Anxietas animi, continuusque dolor. OVID. ------------------- MAGISTRATE, VAGRANT, CONSTABLE, &c. VAGRANT. Take, take away thy barbarous hand, And let me to thy Master speak; Remit awhile the harsh command, And hear me, or my heart will break. MAGISTRATE. Fond wretch! and what canst thou relate, But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin? Thy crime is proved, thou know'st thy fate; But come, thy tale!--begin, begin! - VAGRANT. My crime!--This sick'ning child to feed. I seized the food, your witness saw; I knew your laws forbade the deed, But yielded to a stronger law. Know'st thou, to Nature's great command All human laws are frail and weak? Nay! frown not--stay his eager hand, And hear me, or my heart will break.