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If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt;
Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such,
Here lies honest William, whose heart was a mint,
ask for his merits ?-alas ! he had none : What was good was spontaneous, his faults were his own.
Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must sigh at; Alas, that such frolic should now be so quiet !
What spirits were his! What wit and what whim !
Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts.
Here lies David Garrick, describe him who can;
Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys, and Woodfalls so grave,
CITY NIGHT PIECE.
The clock has just struck two; the expiring taper rises and sinks in the socket; the watchman forgets the hour in slumber; the laborious and the happy are at rest; and nothing wakes but meditation, guilt, revelry, and despair. The drunkard once more fills the destroying bowl; the robber walks his midnight round; and the suicide lifts his guilty arm against his own sacred person. Let me no longer waste the night over the page
of antiquity or the sallies of contemporary genius, but pursue the solitary walk, where Vanity, ever changing, but a few hours past walked before me—where she kept up the pageant, and now, like a forward child, seems hushed with her own importunities.
What a gloom hangs all around! The dying lamp feebly emits a yellow gleam; no sound is heard but of the chiming clock, or the distant watch-dog. All the bustle of human pride is forgotten; an hour like this may well display the emptiness of human vanity.
There will come a time, when this temporary solitude may be made continual, and the city itself, like its inhabitants, fade away, and leave a desert in its room.
What cities, as great as this, have once triumphed in existence, had their victories as great, joy as just and as unbounded ; and with short-sighted presumption, promised themselves immortality. Posterity can hardly trace the situation of some; the sorrowful traveller wanders over the awful ruins of others; and, as he beholds, he learns wisdom, and feels the transcience of every sublunary possession.
“Here,” he cries, “stood their citadel, now grown over with weeds; there their senate-house, but now the haunt of every noxious reptile ; temples and theatres stood here, now only an undistinguished heap of ruin.”
They are fallen, for luxury and avarice first made them feeble. The rewards of the state were conferred on amusing, and not on useful, members of society. Their riches and opulence invited the invaders, who, though at first repulsed, returned again, conquered by perseverance, and at last swept the dependents into undistinguished destruction.
How few appear in those streets which but some few hours ago were crowded ; and those who appear, now no longer wear their daily mask, nor attempt to hide their misery
But who are those who make the streets their couch, and find a short repose from wretchedness at the doors
of the opulent? These are strangers, wanderers, and orphans, whose circumstances are too humble to expect redress, and their distresses are too great even for pity.
Their wretchedness excites rather horror. Some are without the covering eve of rags, and others emaciated with disease; the world has disclaimed them ; society turns its back upon their distress, and has given them up to nakedness and hunger.
Why, why was I born a man, and yet see the sufferings of wretches I cannot relieve! Poor houseless creatures ! the world will give you reproaches, but will not give you relief. The slightest misfortunes of the great, the most imaginary uneasiness of the rich, are aggravated with all the power of eloquence, and held up to engage our attention and sympathetic sorrow: The poor weep unheeded, persecuted by every subordinate species of tyranny; and every law which gives others security, becomes an enemy to them.
Why was this heart of mine formed with so much sensibility? or why was not my fortune adapted to its impulse? Tenderness, without a capacity of relieving, only makes the man who feels it more wretched than the object which sues for assistance.