To see unnumbered growing forms appear; What leafy-life from Earth's broad bosom rise! What insect myriads seek the summer skies! What scaly tribes in every streamlet move; What plumy people sing in every grove! All with the year awaked to life, delight, and love. Then names are good; for how, without their aid, Is knowledge, gain'd by man, to man convey'd? But from that source shall all our pleasures flow? Shall all our knowledge be those names to know? Then he, with memory blest, shall bear away 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; Pleased to be known, they'll some attention claim, And find some by-way to the house of fame. The straightest furrow lifts the ploughman's art, The hat he gained 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 meet our village sires, Assembled all as such event requires; Frequent and full, the rural sages sate, And speakers many urged the long debate, - Some harden'd knaves, who roved 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 remained to do?" "Was't dead or living?" This was fairly proved, - 'Twas pinched, it roar'd, and every doubt removed. Then by what name th' unwelcome guest to call Was long a question, and it posed them all; For he who lent it to a babe unknown, Censorious men might take it for his own: They look'd about, they gravely spoke to all, And not one Richard answer'd to the call. Next they inquired 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 pinched and pitied, thump'd and fed, And duly took his beatings and his bread; Patient in all control, 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;