_Old Man_. It don’t look well These alterations Sir! I’m an old man And love the good old fashions; we don’t find Old bounty in new houses. They’ve destroyed All that my Lady loved; her favourite walk Grubb’d up, and they do say that the great row Of elms behind the house, that meet a-top They must fall too. Well! well! I did not think To live to see all this, and ’tis perhaps A comfort I shan’t live to see it long. _Stranger_. But sure all changes are not needs for the worse My friend. _Old Man_. May-hap they mayn’t Sir;—for all that I like what I’ve been us’d to. I remember All this from a child up, and now to lose it, ’Tis losing an old friend. There’s nothing left As ’twas;—I go abroad and only meet With men whose fathers I remember boys; The brook that used to run before my door That’s gone to the great pond; the trees I learnt To climb are down; and I see nothing now That tells me of old times, except the stones In the church-yard. You are young Sir and I hope Have many years in store,—but pray to God You mayn’t be left the last of all your friends. _Stranger_. Well! well! you’ve one friend more than you’re aware of. If the Squire’s taste don’t suit with your’s, I warrant That’s all you’ll quarrel with: walk in and taste His beer, old friend! and see if your old Lady E’er broached a better cask. You did not know me, But we’re acquainted now. ’Twould not be easy To make you like the outside; but within— That is not changed my friend! you’ll always find The same old bounty and old welcome there. Eclogue II ­The Grandmother’s Tale _Jane_. Harry! I’m tired of playing. We’ll draw round The fire, and Grandmamma perhaps will tell us One of her stories. _Harry_. Aye—dear Grandmamma! A pretty story! something dismal now; A bloody murder. _Jane_. Or about a ghost. _Grandmother_. Nay, nay, I should but frighten you. You know The other night when I was telling you About the light in the church-yard, how you trembled Because the screech-owl hooted at the window, And would not go to bed. _Jane_. Why Grandmamma You said yourself you did not like to hear him. Pray now! we wo’nt be frightened. _Grandmother_. Well, well, children! But you’ve heard all my stories. Let me see,— Did I never tell you how the smuggler murdered The woman down at Pill? _Harry_. No—never! never! _Grandmother_. Not how he cut her head off in the stable? _Harry_. Oh—now! do tell us that! _Grandmother_. You must have heard Your Mother, children! often tell of her. She used to weed in the garden here, and worm Your uncle’s dogs,[12] and serve the house with coal; And glad enough she was in winter time To drive her asses here! it was cold work To follow the slow beasts thro’ sleet and snow, And here she found a comfortable meal And a brave fire to thaw her, for poor Moll Was always welcome. _Harry_. Oh—’twas blear-eyed Moll The collier woman,—a great ugly woman, I’ve heard of her.