“And then for Comforts in our Weakness call.-- “Why then this proud Reluctance to be fed, “To join your Poor and eat the Parish-Bread? “But yet I linger, loath with him to feed, “Who gains his Plenty by the Sons of Need; “He who, by Contract, all your Paupers took, “And guages Stomachs with an anxious Look: “On some old Master I could well depend; “See him with joy and thank him as a Friend; “But ill on him, who doles the Day’s Supply, “And counts our Chances, who at Night may die: “Yet help me Heav’n! and let me not complain “Of what befalls me, but the fate sustain.” Such were his Thoughts, and so resign’d he grew; Daily he plac’d the Workhouse in his view! But came not there, for sudden was his Fate, He dropp’d expiring, at his Cottage-gate. I feel his Absence in the Hours of Prayer, And view his Seat and sigh for _Isaac_ there; I see no more those white Locks thinly spread, Round the bald Polish of that honour’d Head; No more that aweful Glance on playful Wight Compell’d to kneel and tremble at the sight; To fold his Fingers all in dread the while, Till Mister _Ashford_ soften’d to a Smile; No more that meek and suppliant Look in Prayer, Nor the pure Faith (to give it force) are there:-- But he is blest and I lament no more, A wise good Man contented to be poor. Then died a Rambler; not the One who sails And trucks, for Female Favours, Beads and Nails; Not One, who posts from place to place--of Men And Manners treating with a flying Pen: Not he, who climbs, for Prospects, _Snowden_’s Height, And chides the Clouds that intercept the Sight; No curious Shell, rare Plant or brilliant Spar, Intic’d our Traveller, from his Home, so far; But all the Reason, by himself assign’d For so much Rambling, was, a restless Mind; As on, from place to place, without intent, Without Reflection, _Robin Dingley_ went. Not thus by Nature:--never Man was found Less prone to wander from his Parish-bound; _Claudian_’s old Man, to whom all Scenes were new, Save those where he and where his Apples grew, Resembled _Robin_, who around would look, And his Horizon, for the Earth’s mistook. To this poor Swain a keen Attorney came;-- “I give thee joy, good Fellow! on thy Name; “The rich old _Dingley_’s dead;--no Child has he, “Nor Wife nor Will; his ALL is left for thee; “To be his Fortune’s Heir thy Claim is good; “Thou hast the Name and we will prove the Blood.” The Claim was made; ’twas tried, it would not stand; They prov’d the Blood, but were refus’d the Land. Assur’d of Wealth, this Man of simple Heart, To every Friend had predispos’d a Part; His Wife, had Hopes indulg’d of various kind; The three Miss _Dingley’s_ had their School assign’d, Masters were sought for what each Miss requir’d,