The palm from GREW, and MIDDLETON, and RAY; No! let us rather seek in Grove and Field, What food for Wonder, what for Use they yield; Some just remark from Nature’s people bring, And some new source of homage for her _King_. Pride lives with all; strange Names our Rustics give To helpless Infants, that their own may live; Pleas’d to be known, some notice they will claim, And find some bye-way to the house of Fame. The straightest Furrow lifts the Ploughman’s heart, The Hat he gain’d has warmth for head and heart; The Bowl that beats the greater number down, Of tottering Nine-pins, gives to fame the Clown; Or foil’d in these, he opes his ample jaws, And lets a Frog leap down to gain applause; Or grins for hours, or tipples for a week, Or challenges a well-pinch’d pig, to squeak; Some idle deed, some child’s preposterous Name, Shall make him known and give his folly, fame. To name an Infant met our Village-sires, Assembled all, as such event requires; Frequent and full, the rural Sages sate, And Speakers many urg’d the long debate,-- Some harden’d knaves, who rov’d the country round, Had left a Babe within the Parish-bound.-- First, of the fact they question’d--“Was it true?” The Child was brought--“What then remain’d to do? “Was’t dead or living?” This was fairly prov’d, ’Twas pinch’d, it roar’d, and every doubt remov’d; Then by what Name th’ unwelcome guest to call, Was long a question and it pos’d them all: For he who lent a Name to Babe unknown, Censorious men might take it for his own; They look’d about, they ask’d the name of all, And not one _Richard_ answer’d to the call; Next they enquir’d the day, when passing by, Th’ _unlucky_ peasant heard the stranger’s cry; This known; how Food and Raiment they might give, Was next debated--for the rogue would live; At last with all their words and work content,} Back to their homes, the prudent Vestry went, } And _Richard Monday_ to the Workhouse sent. } There was he pinch’d and pitied, thump’d and fed, And duly took his beatings and his bread; Patient in all controul, in all abuse, He found contempt and kicking have their use: Sad, silent, supple; bending to the blow, A slave of slaves, the lowest of the low; His pliant soul gave way to all things base, He knew no shame, he dreaded no disgrace: It seem’d, so well his passions he suppress’d, No feeling stirr’d his ever-torpid breast; Him might the meanest pauper bruise and cheat, He was a footstool for the beggar’s feet; His were the legs that ran at all commands; They us’d on all occasions, _Richard_’s hands; His very soul was not his own; he stole As others order’d, and without a dole; In all disputes, on either part he lied, And freely pledg’d his oath on either side,