Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, POSTHUMOUS TALES: TALE 11. THE MERCHANT, by GEORGE CRABBE


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POSTHUMOUS TALES: TALE 11. THE MERCHANT, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Lo! One appears, to whom if I should dare
Last Line: And in this blue defilement -- -- curse the coat!'


I

LO! one appears, to whom if I should dare
To say farewell, the lordly man would stare,
Would stretch his goodly form some inches higher,
And then, without a single word, retire;
Or from his state might haply condescend
To doubt his memory -- 'Ha! your name, my friend!'
He is the master of these things we see,
Those vessels proudly riding by the quay;
With all those mountain heaps of coal that lie,
For half a county's wonder and supply.
Boats, cables, anchors, all to him pertain, --
A swimming fortune, all his father's gain.
He was a porter on the quay, and one
Proud of his fortune, prouder of his son; --
Who was ashamed of him, and much distress'd
To see his father was no better dress'd.
Yet for this parent did the son erect
A tomb -- 'tis whisper'd, he must not expect
The like for him, when he shall near it sleep, --
Where we behold the marble cherubs weep.
There are no merchants who with us reside
In half his state, -- no wonder he has pride;
Then he parades around that vast estate,
As if he spurn'd the slaves that make him great;
Speaking in tone so high, as if the ware
Was nothing worth -- at least not worth his care;
Yet should he not these bulky stores contemn,
For all his glory he derives from them;
And were it not for that neglected store,
This great rich man would be extremely poor.
Generous, men call him, for he deigns to give;
He condescends to say the poor must live:
Yet in his seamen not a sign appears,
That they have much respect, or many fears;
With inattention they their patron meet,
As if they thought his dignity a cheat;
Or of himself as, having much to do
With their affairs, he very little knew;
As if his ways to them so well were known,
That they might hear, and bow, and take their own.
He might contempt for men so humble feel,
But this experience taught him to conceal;
For sailors do not to a lord at land
As to their captain in submission stand;
Nor have mere pomp and pride of look or speech,
Been able yet respect or awe to teach.
Guns, when with powder charged, will make a noise,
To frighten babes, and be the sport of boys;
But when within men find there's nothing more,
They shout contemptuous at the idle roar.
Thus will our lofty man to all appear,
With nothing charged that they respect or fear.
His Lady, too, to her large purse applies,
And all she fancies at the instant buys.
How bows the market, when, from stall to stall,
She walks attended! how respectful all!
To her free orders every maid attends,
And strangers wonder what the woman spends.
There is an auction, and the people shy,
Are loth to bid, and yet desire to buy.
Jealous they gaze with mingled hope and fear,
Of buying cheaply, and of paying dear.
They see the hammer with determined air
Seized for despatch, and bid in pure despair!
They bid -- the hand is quiet as before, --
Still stands old Puff till one advances more. --
Behold great madam, gliding through the crowd:
Hear her too bid -- decisive tone and loud!
'Going! 'tis gone!' the hammer-holder cries --
'Joy to you, Lady! you have gain'd a prize.'
Thus comes and goes the wealth, that, saved or spent,
Buys not a moment's credit or content.
Farewell! your fortune I forbear to guess;
For chance, as well as sense, may give success.

II

P. SAY, what yon buildings, neat indeed, but low,
So much alike, in one commodious row?
F. You see our Alms-house: ancient men, decay'd,
Are here sustain'd, who lost their way in trade;
Here they have all that sober men require --
So thought the Poet -- 'meat, and clothes, and fire;'
A little garden to each house pertains,
Convenient each, and kept with little pains.
Here for the sick are nurse and medicine found;
Here walks and shaded alleys for the sound;
Books of devotion on the shelves are placed,
And not forbidden are the books of taste.
The Church is near them -- in a common seat
The pious men with grateful spirit meet:
Thus from the world, which they no more admire,
They all in silent gratitude retire.
P. And is it so? Have all, with grateful mind,
The world relinquish'd, and its ways resign'd?
Look they not back with lingering love and slow,
And fain would once again the oft-tried follies know?
F. Too surely some! We must not think that all,
Call'd to be hermits, would obey the call;
We must not think that all forget the state
In which they moved, and bless their humbler fate;
But all may here the waste of life retrieve,
And, ere they leave the world, its vices leave.
See yonder man, who walks apart, and seems
Wrapt in some fond and visionary schemes;
Who looks uneasy, as a man oppress'd
By that large copper badge upon his breast.
His painful shame, his self-tormenting pride,
Would all that's visible in bounty hide;
And much his anxious breast is swell'd with woe,
That where he goes his badge must with him go.
P. Who then is he? Do I behold aright?
My lofty Merchant in this humble plight!
Still has he pride?
F. If common fame be just,
He yet has pride, -- the pride that licks the dust;
Pride that can stoop, and feed upon the base
And wretched flattery of this humbling place;
Nay, feeds himself! his failing is avow'd,
He of the cause that made him poor is proud;
Proud of his greatness, of the sums he spent,
And honours shown him wheresoe'er he went.
Yes! there he walks, that lofty man is he,
Who was so rich; but great he could not be.
Now to the paupers who about him stand,
He tells of wonders by his bounty plann'd,
Tells of his traffic, where his vessels sail'd,
And what a trade he drove -- before he fail'd;
Then what a failure, not a paltry sum,
Like a mean trader, but for half a plum;
His Lady's wardrobe was apprised so high,
At his own sale, that nobody would buy! --
'But she is gone,' he cries, 'and never saw
The spoil and havoc of our cruel law;
My steeds, our chariot that so roll'd along,
Admired of all! they sold them for a song.
You all can witness what my purse could do,
And now I wear a badge like one of you,
Who in my service had been proud to live, --
And this is all a thankless town will give.
I, who have raised the credit of that town,
And gave it, thankless as it is, renown --
Who've done what no man there had done before,
Now hide my head within an Alms-house door --
Deprived of all -- my wife, my wealth, my vote,
And in this blue defilement -- -- Curse the Coat!'





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