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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395889" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Tale III</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE GENTLEMAN FARMER.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Gwyn was a farmer, whom the farmers all,<br>Who dwelt around, 'the Gentleman' would call;<br>Whether in pure humility or pride,<br>They only knew, and they would not decide.<br>Far different he from that dull plodding tribe<br>Whom it was his amusement to describe;<br>Creatures no more enliven'd than a clod,<br>But treading still as their dull fathers trod;<br>Who lived in times when not a man had seen<br>Corn sown by drill, or thresh'd by a machine!<br>He was of those whose skill assigns the prize<br>For creatures fed in pens, and stalls, and sties;<br>And who, in places where improvers meet,<br>To fill the land with fatness, had a seat;<br>Who in large mansions live like petty kings,<br>And speak of farms but as amusing things;<br>Who plans encourage, and who journals keep,<br>And talk with lords about a breed of sheep.<br>Two are the species in this genus known;<br>One, who is rich in his profession grown,<br>Who yearly finds his ample stores increase,<br>From fortune's favours and a favouring lease;<br>Who rides his hunter, who his house adorns;<br>Who drinks his wine, and his disbursements scorns;<br>Who freely lives, and loves to show he can, -<br>This is the Farmer made the Gentleman.<br>The second species from the world is sent,<br>Tired with its strife, or with his wealth content;<br>In books and men beyond the former read<br>To farming solely by a passion led,<br>Or by a fashion; curious in his land;<br>Now planning much, now changing what he plann'd;<br>Pleased by each trial, not by failures vex'd,<br>And ever certain to succeed the next;<br>Quick to resolve, and easy to persuade, -<br>This is the Gentleman, a farmer made.<br>Gwyn was of these; he from the world withdrew<br>Early in life, his reasons known to few;<br>Some disappointments said, some pure good sense,<br>The love of land, the press of indolence;<br>His fortune known, and coming to retire,<br>If not a Farmer, men had call'd him 'Squire.<br>Forty and five his years, no child or wife<br>Cross'd the still tenour of his chosen life;<br>Much land he purchased, planted far around,<br>And let some portions of superfluous ground<br>To farmers near him, not displeased to say<br>'My tenants,' nor 'our worthy landlord,' they.<br>Fix'd in his farm, he soon display'd his skill<br>In small-boned lambs, the horse-hoe, and the drill;<br>From these he rose to themes of nobler kind,<br>And show'd the riches of a fertile mind;<br>To all around their visits he repaid<br>And thus his mansion and himself display'd.<br>His rooms were stately, rather fine than neat,<br>And guests politely call'd his house a Seat;<br>At much expense was each apartment graced,<br>His taste was gorgeous, but it still was taste;<br>In full festoons the crimson curtains fell,<br>The sofas rose in bold elastic swell;<br>Mirrors in gilded frames display'd the tints<br>Of glowing carpets and of colour'd prints:<br>The weary eye saw every object shine,<br>And all was costly, fanciful, and fine.<br>As with his friends he pass'd the social hours,<br>His generous spirit scorn'd to hide its powers;<br>Powers unexpected, for his eye and air<br>Gave no sure signs that eloquence was there;<br>Oft he began with sudden fire and force,<br>As loth to lose occasion for discourse;<br>Some, 'tis observed, who feel a wish to speak,<br>Will a due place for introduction seek;<br>On to their purpose step by step they steal,<br>And all their way, by certain signals, feel;<br>Others plunge in at once, and never heed<br>Whose turn they take, whose purpose they impede;<br>Resolved to shine, they hasten to begin,<br>Of ending thoughtless--and of these was Gwyn.<br>And thus he spake: -<br>'It grieves me to the soul,<br>To see how man submits to man's control;<br>How overpower'd and shackled minds are led<br>In vulgar tracks, and to submission bred;<br>The coward never on himself relies,<br>But to an equal for assistance flies;<br>Man yields to custom, as he bows to fate,<br>In all things ruled--mind, body, and estate;<br>In pain, in sickness, we for cure apply<br>To them we know not, and we know not why;<br>But that the creature has some jargon read,<br>And got some Scotchman's system in his head;<br>Some grave impostor, who will health ensure,<br>Long as your patience or your wealth endure,<br>But mark them well, the pale and sickly crew,<br>They have not health, and can they give it you?<br>These solemn cheats their various methods choose,<br>A system fires them, as a bard his muse:<br>Hence wordy wars arise; the learn'd divide,<br>And groaning patients curse each erring guide.<br>'Next, our affairs are govern'd, buy or sell,<br>Upon the deed the law must fix its spell;<br>Whether we hire or let, we must have still<br>The dubious aid of an attorney's skill;<br>They take a part in every man's affairs,<br>And in all business some concern is theirs;<br>Because mankind in ways prescribed are found<br>Like flocks that follow on a beaten ground.<br>Each abject nature in the way proceeds,<br>That now to shearing, now to slaughter leads.<br>Should you offend, though meaning no offence,<br>You have no safety in your innocence;<br>The statute broken then is placed in view,<br>And men must pay for crimes they never knew;<br>Who would by law regain his plunder'd store,<br>Would pick up fallen merc'ry from the floor;<br>If he pursue it, here and there it slides,<br>He would collect it, but it more divides;<br>This part and this he stops, but still in vain,<br>It slips aside, and breaks in parts again;<br>Till, after time and pains, and care and cost,<br>He finds his labour and his object lost.<br>But most it grieves me (friends alone are round),<br>To see a man in priestly fetters bound;<br>Guides to the soul, these friends of Heaven </div><div style="margin:10px 0">contrive,<br>Long as man lives, to keep his fears alive:<br>Soon as an infant breathes, their rites begin;<br>Who knows not sinning, must be freed from sin;<br>Who needs no bond, must yet engage in vows;<br>Who has no judgment, must a creed espouse:<br>Advanced in life, our boys are bound by rules,<br>Are catechised in churches, cloisters, schools,<br>And train'd in thraldom to be fit for tools:<br>The youth grown up, he now a partner needs,<br>And lo! a priest, as soon as he succeeds.<br>What man of sense can marriage-rites approve?<br>What man of spirit can be bound to love?<br>Forced to be kind! compell'd to be sincere!<br>Do chains and fetters make companions dear?<br>Pris'ners indeed we bind; but though the bond<br>May keep them safe, it does not make them fond:<br>The ring, the vow, the witness, licence, prayers,<br>All parties known! made public all affairs!<br>Such forms men suffer, and from these they date<br>A deed of love begun with all they hate:<br>Absurd! that none the beaten road should shun,<br>But love to do what other dupes have done.<br>'Well, now your priest has made you one of </div><div style="margin:10px 0">twain,<br>Look you for rest? Alas! you look in vain.<br>If sick, he comes; you cannot die in peace,<br>Till he attends to witness your release;<br>To vex your soul, and urge you to confess<br>The sins you feel, remember, or can guess;<br>Nay, when departed, to your grave he goes -<br>But there indeed he hurts not your repose.<br>'Such are our burthens; part we must sustain,<br>But need not link new grievance to the chain:<br>Yet men like idiots will their frames surround<br>With these vile shackles, nor confess they're </div><div style="margin:10px 0">bound;<br>In all that most confines them they confide,<br>Their slavery boast, and make their bonds their </div><div style="margin:10px 0">pride;<br>E'en as the pressure galls them, they declare<br>(Good souls!) how happy and how free they are!<br>As madmen, pointing round their wretched cells,<br>Cry, 'Lo! the palace where our honour dwells.'<br>'Such is our state: but I resolve to live<br>By rules my reason and my feelings give;<br>No legal guards shall keep enthrall'd my mind,<br>No Slaves command me, and no teachers blind.<br>Tempted by sins, let me their strength defy,<br>But have no second in a surplice by;<br>No bottle-holder, with officious aid,<br>To comfort conscience, weaken'd and afraid:<br>Then if I yield, my frailty is not known;<br>And, if I stand, the glory is my own.<br>'When Truth and Reason are our friends, we seem<br>Alive! awake!--the superstitious dream.<br>Oh! then, fair truth, for thee alone I seek,<br>Friend to the wise, supporter of the weak;<br>From thee we learn whate'er is right and just:<br>Forms to despise, professions to distrust;<br>Creeds to reject, pretensions to deride,<br>And, following thee, to follow none beside.'<br>Such was the speech: it struck upon the ear<br>Like sudden thunder none expect to hear.<br>He saw men's wonder with a manly pride,<br>And gravely smiled at guest electrified.<br>'A farmer this!' they said, 'Oh! let him seek<br>That place where he may for his country speak;<br>On some great question to harangue for hours,<br>While speakers, hearing, envy nobler powers!'<br>Wisdom like this, as all things rich and rare,<br>Must be acquired with pains, and kept with care;<br>In books he sought it, which his friends might </div><div style="margin:10px 0">view,<br>When their kind host the guarding curtain drew.<br>There were historic works for graver hours,<br>And lighter verse to spur the languid powers;<br>There metaphysics, logic there had place;<br>But of devotion not a single trace -<br>Save what is taught in Gibbon's florid page,<br>And other guides of this inquiring age.<br>There Hume appear'd, and near a splendid book<br>Composed by Gay's 'good lord of Bolingbroke:'<br>With these were mix'd the light, the free, the </div><div style="margin:10px 0">vain,<br>And from a corner peep'd the sage Tom Paine;<br>Here four neat volumes Chesterfield were named,<br>For manners much and easy morals famed;<br>With chaste Memoirs of females, to be read<br>When deeper studies had confused the head.<br>Such his resources, treasures where he sought<br>For daily knowledge till his mind was fraught:<br>Then, when his friends were present, for their use<br>He would the riches he had stored produce;<br>He found his lamp burn clearer when each day<br>He drew for all he purposed to display;<br>For these occasions forth his knowledge sprung,<br>As mustard quickens on a bed of dung:<br>All was prepared, and guests allow'd the praise<br>For what they saw he could so quickly raise.<br>Such this new friend; and when the year came </div><div style="margin:10px 0">round,<br>The same impressive, reasoning sage was found:<br>Then, too, was seen the pleasant mansion graced<br>With a fair damsel--his no vulgar taste;<br>The neat Rebecca--sly, observant, still,<br>Watching his eye, and waiting on his will;<br>Simple yet smart her dress, her manners meek,<br>Her smiles spoke for her, she would seldom speak:<br>But watch'd each look, each meaning to detect,<br>And (pleased with notice) felt for all neglect.<br>With her lived Gwyn a sweet harmonious life,<br>Who, forms excepted, was a charming wife:<br>The wives indeed, so made by vulgar law,<br>Affected scorn, and censured what they saw,<br>And what they saw not, fancied; said 'twas sin,<br>And took no notice of the wife of Gwyn:<br>But he despised their rudeness, and would prove<br>Theirs was compulsion and distrust, not love;<br>'Fools as they were! could they conceive that rings<br>And parsons' blessings were substantial things?'<br>They answer'd 'Yes;' while he contemptuous spoke<br>Of the low notions held by simple folk;<br>Yet, strange that anger in a man so wise<br>Should from the notions of these fools arise;<br>Can they so vex us, whom we so despise?<br>Brave as he was, our hero felt a dread<br>Lest those who saw him kind should think him led;<br>If to his bosom fear a visit paid,<br>It was, lest he should be supposed afraid:<br>Hence sprang his orders; not that he desired<br>The things when done: obedience he required;<br>And thus, to prove his absolute command,<br>Ruled every heart, and moved each subject hand;<br>Assent he ask'd for every word and whim,<br>To prove that he alone was king of him.<br>The still Rebecca, who her station knew,<br>With ease resign'd the honours not her due:<br>Well pleased she saw that men her board would </div><div style="margin:10px 0">grace,<br>And wish'd not there to see a female face;<br>When by her lover she his spouse was styled,<br>Polite she thought it, and demurely smiled;<br>But when he wanted wives and maidens round<br>So to regard her, she grew grave and frown'd;<br>And sometimes whisper'd--'Why should you respect<br>These people's notions, yet their forms reject?'<br>Gwyn, though from marriage bond and fetter free,<br>Still felt abridgment in his liberty;<br>Something of hesitation he betray'd,<br>And in her presence thought of what he said.<br>Thus fair Rebecca, though she walk'd astray,<br>His creed rejecting, judged it right to pray,<br>To be at church, to sit with serious looks,<br>To read her Bible and her Sunday-books:<br>She hated all those new and daring themes,<br>And call'd his free conjectures 'devil's dreams:'<br>She honour'd still the priesthood in her fall,<br>And claim'd respect and reverence for them all;<br>Call'd them 'of sin's destructive power the foes,<br>And not such blockheads as he might suppose.'<br>Gwyn to his friends would smile, and sometimes say,<br>''Tis a kind fool; why vex her in her way?'<br>Her way she took, and still had more in view,<br>For she contrived that he should take it too.<br>The daring freedom of his soul, 'twas plain,<br>In part was lost in a divided reign;<br>A king and queen, who yet in prudence sway'd<br>Their peaceful state, and were in turn obey'd.<br>Yet such our fate, that when we plan the best,<br>Something arises to disturb our rest:<br>For though in spirits high, in body strong,<br>Gwyn something felt--he knew not what--was wrong,<br>He wish'd to know, for he believed the thing,<br>If unremoved, would other evil bring:<br>'She must perceive, of late he could not eat,<br>And when he walk'd he trembled on his feet:<br>He had forebodings, and he seem'd as one<br>Stopp'd on the road, or threaten'd by a dun;<br>He could not live, and yet, should he apply<br>To those physicians--he must sooner die.'<br>The mild Rebecca heard with some disdain,<br>And some distress, her friend and lord complain:<br>His death she fear'd not, but had painful doubt<br>What his distemper'd nerves might bring about;<br>With power like hers she dreaded an ally,<br>And yet there was a person in her eye; -<br>She thought, debated, fix'd--'Alas!' she said,<br>'A case like yours must be no more delay'd;<br>You hate these doctors; well! but were a friend<br>And doctor one, your fears would have an end:<br>My cousin Mollet--Scotland holds him now -<br>Is above all men skilful, all allow;<br>Of late a Doctor, and within a while<br>He means to settle in this favoured isle:<br>Should he attend you, with his skill profound,<br>You must be safe, and shortly would be sound.'<br>When men in health against Physicians rail,<br>They should consider that their nerves may fail;<br>Who calls a Lawyer rogue, may find, too late,<br>On one of these depends his whole estate;<br>Nay, when the world can nothing more produce,<br>The Priest, th' insulted priest, may have his use;<br>Ease, health, and comfort lift a man so high,<br>These powers are dwarfs that he can scarcely spy;<br>Pain, sickness, langour, keep a man so low,<br>That these neglected dwarfs to giants grow:<br>Happy is he who through the medium sees<br>Of clear good sense--but Gwyn was not of these.<br>He heard and he rejoiced: 'Ah! let him come,<br>And till he fixes, make my house his home.'<br>Home came the Doctor--he was much admired;<br>He told the patient what his case required;<br>His hours for sleep, his time to eat and drink,<br>When he should ride, read, rest, compose, or think.<br>Thus join'd peculiar skill and art profound,<br>To make the fancy-sick no more than fancy-sound.<br>With such attention, who could long be ill?<br>Returning health proclaim'd the Doctor's skill.<br>Presents and praises from a grateful heart<br>Were freely offer'd on the patient's part;<br>In high repute the Doctor seem'd to stand,<br>But still had got no footing in the land;<br>And, as he saw the seat was rich and fair,<br>He felt disposed to fix his station there:<br>To gain his purpose he perform'd the part<br>Of a good actor, and prepared to start;<br>Not like a traveller in a day serene,<br>When the sun shone and when the roads were clean;<br>Not like the pilgrim, when the morning gray,<br>The ruddy eve succeeding, sends his way;<br>But in a season when the sharp east wind<br>Had all its influence on a nervous mind;<br>When past the parlour's front it fiercely blew,<br>And Gwyn sat pitying every bird that flew,<br>This strange physician said--'Adieu! Adieu!<br>Farewell!--Heaven bless you!--if you should--but </div><div style="margin:10px 0">no,<br>You need not fear--farewell! 'tis time to go.'<br>The Doctor spoke; and as the patient heard,<br>His old disorders (dreadful train!) appear'd;<br>'He felt the tingling tremor, and the stress<br>Upon his nerves that he could not express;<br>Should his good friend forsake him, he perhaps<br>Might meet his death, and surely a relapse.'<br>So, as the Doctor seem'd intent to part,<br>He cried in terror--'Oh! be where thou art:<br>Come, thou art young, and unengaged; oh! come,<br>Make me thy friend, give comfort to mine home;<br>I have now symptoms that require thine aid,<br>Do, Doctor, stay:'--th' obliging Doctor stay'd.<br>Thus Gwyn was happy; he had now a friend,<br>And a meek spouse on whom he could depend:<br>But now possess'd of male and female guide,<br>Divided power he thus must subdivide:<br>In earlier days he rode, or sat at ease<br>Reclined, and having but himself to please;<br>Now if he would a fav'rite nag bestride,<br>He sought permission--'Doctor, may I ride?'<br>(Rebecca's eye her sovereign pleasure told) -<br>'I think you may, but guarded from the cold,<br>Ride forty minutes.'--Free and happy soul,<br>He scorn'd submission, and a man's control;<br>But where such friends in every care unite<br>All for his good, obedience is delight.<br>Now Gwyn a sultan bade affairs adieu,<br>Led and assisted by the faithful two;<br>The favourite fair, Rebecca, near him sat,<br>And whisper'd whom to love, assist, or hate;<br>While the chief vizier eased his lord of cares,<br>And bore himself the burden of affairs:<br>No dangers could from such alliance flow,<br>But from that law that changes all below.<br>When wintry winds with leaves bestrew'd the </div><div style="margin:10px 0">ground,<br>And men were coughing all the village round;<br>When public papers of invasion told,<br>Diseases, famines, perils new and old;<br>When philosophic writers fail'd to clear<br>The mind of gloom, and lighter works to cheer;<br>Then came fresh terrors on our hero's mind -<br>Fears unforeseen, and feelings undefined.<br>'In outward ills,' he cried, 'I rest assured<br>Of my friend's aid; they will in time be cured;<br>But can his art subdue, resist, control<br>These inward griefs and troubles of the soul?<br>Oh! my Rebecca! my disorder'd mind<br>No help in study, none in thought can find;<br>What must I do, Rebecca?' She proposed<br>The Parish-guide; but what could be disclosed<br>To a proud priest?--'No! him have I defied,<br>Insulted, slighted--shall he be my guide?<br>But one there is, and if report be just,<br>A wise good man, whom I may safely trust;<br>Who goes from house to house, from ear to ear,<br>To make his truths, his Gospel-truths, appear;<br>True if indeed they be, 'tis time that I should </div><div style="margin:10px 0">hear:<br>Send for that man; and if report be just,<br>I, like Cornelius, will the teacher trust;<br>But if deceiver, I the vile deceit<br>Shall soon discover, and discharge the cheat.'<br>To Doctor Mollet was the grief confess'd,<br>While Gwyn the freedom of his mind expressed;<br>Yet own'd it was to ills and errors prone,<br>And he for guilt and frailty must atone.<br>'My books, perhaps,' the wav'ring mortal cried,<br>'Like men deceive; I would be satisfied; -<br>And to my soul the pious man may bring<br>Comfort and light: --do let me try the thing.'<br>The cousins met, what pass'd with Gwyn was told:<br>'Alas!' the Doctor said, 'how hard to hold<br>These easy minds, where all impressions made<br>At first sink deeply, and then quickly fade;<br>For while so strong these new-born fancies reign,<br>We must divert them, to oppose is vain:<br>You see him valiant now, he scorns to heed<br>The bigot's threat'nings or the zealot's creed;<br>Shook by a dream, he next for truth receives<br>What frenzy teaches, and what fear believes;<br>And this will place him in the power of one<br>Whom we must seek, because we cannot shun.'<br>Wisp had been ostler at a busy inn,<br>Where he beheld and grew in dread of sin;<br>Then to a Baptists' meeting found his way,<br>Became a convert, and was taught to pray;<br>Then preach'd; and, being earnest and sincere,<br>Brought other sinners to religious fear:<br>Together grew his influence and his fame,<br>Till our dejected hero heard his name:<br>His little failings were a grain of pride,<br>Raised by the numbers he presumed to guide;<br>A love of presents, and of lofty praise<br>For his meek spirit and his humble ways;<br>But though this spirit would on flattery feed,<br>No praise could blind him and no arts mislead: -<br>To him the Doctor made the wishes known<br>Of his good patron, but conceal'd his own;<br>He of all teachers had distrust and doubt,<br>And was reserved in what he came about;<br>Though on a plain and simple message sent,<br>He had a secret and a bold intent:<br>Their minds at first were deeply veil'd; disguise<br>Form'd the slow speech, and oped the eager eyes;<br>Till by degrees sufficient light was thrown<br>On every view, and all the business shown.<br>Wisp, as a skilful guide who led the blind,<br>Had powers to rule and awe the vapourish mind;<br>But not the changeful will, the wavering fear to </div><div style="margin:10px 0">bind:<br>And should his conscience give him leave to dwell<br>With Gwyn, and every rival power expel<br>(A dubious point), yet he, with every care,<br>Might soon the lot of the rejected share;<br>And other Wisps he found like him to reign,<br>And then be thrown upon the world again:<br>He thought it prudent then, and felt it just,<br>The present guides of his new friend to trust:<br>True, he conceived, to touch the harder heart<br>Of the cool Doctor, was beyond his art;<br>But mild Rebecca he could surely sway,<br>While Gwyn would follow where she led the way:<br>So to do good, (and why a duty shun,<br>Because rewarded for the good when done?)<br>He with his friends would join in all they plann'd,<br>Save when his faith or feelings should withstand;<br>There he must rest sole judge of his affairs,<br>While they might rule exclusively in theirs.<br>When Gwyn his message to the teacher sent,<br>He fear'd his friends would show their discontent;<br>And prudent seem'd it to th' attendant pair,<br>Not all at once to show an aspect fair:<br>On Wisp they seem'd to look with jealous eye,<br>And fair Rebecca was demure and shy;<br>But by degrees the teacher's worth they knew,<br>And were so kind, they seem'd converted too.<br>Wisp took occasion to the nymph to say,<br>'You must be married: will you name the day?'<br>She smiled,--''Tis well: but should he not comply,<br>Is it quite safe th' experiment to try?' -<br>'My child,' the teacher said, 'who feels remorse,<br>(And feels not he?) must wish relief of course:<br>And can he find it, while he fears the crime! -<br>You must be married; will you name the time?'<br>Glad was the patron as a man could be,<br>Yet marvell'd too, to find his guides agree;<br>'But what the cause?' he cried; ''tis genuine love </div><div style="margin:10px 0">for me.'<br>Each found his part, and let one act describe<br>The powers and honours of th' accordant tribe: -<br>A man for favour to the mansion speeds,<br>And cons his threefold task as he proceeds;<br>To teacher Wisp he bows with humble air,<br>And begs his interest for a barn's repair:<br>Then for the Doctor he inquires, who loves<br>To hear applause for what his skill improves,<br>And gives for praise, assent--and to the Fair<br>He brings of pullets a delicious pair;<br>Thus sees a peasant, with discernment nice,<br>A love of power, conceit, and avarice.<br>Lo! now the change complete: the convert Gwyn<br>Has sold his books, and has renounced his sin;<br>Mollet his body orders, Wisp his soul,<br>And o'er his purse the Lady takes control;<br>No friends beside he needs, and none attend -<br>Soul, body, and estate, has each a friend;<br>And fair Rebecca leads a virtuous life -<br>She rules a mistress, and she reigns a wife.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=George+Crabbe">George Crabbe</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395889" data-title="Tale III de George Crabbe" data-description="THE GENTLEMAN FARMER.

Gwyn was a farmer, whom the farmers all,
Who dwelt around, 'the Gentleman' would call;
Whether in pure humility or pride,
They only knew, and they would not decide.
Far different he from that dull plodding tribe
Whom it was ..."></div>
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