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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395917" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Borough. Letter VIII: Trades</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">OF manufactures, trade, inventions rare,<br>Steam-towers and looms, you'd know our Borough's </div><div style="margin:10px 0">share -<br>'Tis small: we boast not these rich subjects here,<br>Who hazard thrice ten thousand pounds a-year;<br>We've no huge buildings, where incessant noise<br>Is made by springs and spindles, girls and boys;<br>Where, 'mid such thundering sounds, the maiden's </div><div style="margin:10px 0">song<br>Is 'Harmony in Uproar' all day long.<br>Still common minds with us in common trade,<br>Have gain'd more wealth than ever student made;<br>And yet a merchant, when he gives his son<br>His college-learning, thinks his duty done;<br>A way to wealth he leaves his boy to find,<br>Just when he's made for the discovery blind.<br>Jones and his wife perceived their elder boy<br>Took to his learning, and it gave them joy;<br>This they encouraged, and were bless'd to see<br>Their son a fellow with a high degree;<br>A living fell, he married, and his sire<br>Declared 'twas all a father could require;<br>Children then bless'd them, and when letters came,<br>The parents proudly told each grandchild's name.<br>Meantime the sons at home in trade were placed,<br>Money their object--just the father's taste;<br>Saving he lived and long, and when he died,<br>He gave them all his fortune to divide:<br>'Martin,' said he, 'at vast expense was taught;<br>He gain'd his wish, and has the ease he sought.'<br>Thus the good priest (the Christian scholar!) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">finds<br>'What estimate is made by vulgar minds;<br>He sees his brothers, who had every gift<br>Of thriving, now assisted in their thrift;<br>While he, whom learning, habits, all prevent,<br>Is largely mulct for each impediment.<br>Yet let us own that Trade has much of chance,<br>Not all the careful by their care advance;<br>With the same parts and prospects, one a seat<br>Builds for himself; one finds it in the Fleet.<br>Then to the wealthy you will see denied<br>Comforts and joys that with the poor abide:<br>There are who labour through the year, and yet<br>No more have gain'd than--not to be in debt:<br>Who still maintain the same laborious course,<br>Yet pleasure hails them from some favourite source,<br>And health, amusements, children, wife, or friend,<br>With life's dull views their consolations blend.<br>Nor these alone possess the lenient power<br>Of soothing life in the desponding hour;<br>Some favourite studies, some delightful care,<br>The mind with trouble and distresses share;<br>And by a coin, a flower, a verse, a boat,<br>The stagnant spirits have been set afloat;<br>They pleased at first, and then the habit grew,<br>Till the fond heart no higher pleasure knew;<br>Till, from all cares and other comforts freed,<br>Th' important nothing took in life the lead.<br>With all his phlegm, it broke a Dutchman's </div><div style="margin:10px 0">heart,<br>At a vast price, with one loved root to part;<br>And toys like these fill many a British mind,<br>Although their hearts are found of firmer kind.<br>Oft have I smiled the happy pride to see<br>Of humble tradesmen, in their evening glee;<br>When of some pleasing fancied good possess'd,<br>Each grew alert, was busy, and was bless'd:<br>Whether the call-bird yield the hour's delight,<br>Or, magnified in microscope the mite;<br>Or whether tumblers, croppers, carriers seize<br>The gentle mind, they rule it and they please.<br>There is my friend the Weaver: strong desires<br>Reign in his breast; 'tis beauty he admires:<br>See! to the shady grove he wings his way,<br>And feels in hope the raptures of the day -<br>Eager he looks: and soon, to glad his eyes,<br>From the sweet bower, by nature form'd, arise<br>Bright troops of virgin moths and fresh-born </div><div style="margin:10px 0">butterflies;<br>Who broke that morning from their half-year's </div><div style="margin:10px 0">sleep,<br>To fly o'er flowers where they were wont to creep.<br>Above the sovereign oak, a sovereign skims,<br>The purple Emp'ror, strong in wing and limbs:<br>There fair Camilla takes her flight serene,<br>Adonis blue, and Paphia silver-queen;<br>With every filmy fly from mead or bower,<br>And hungry Sphinx who threads the honey'd flower;<br>She o'er the Larkspur's bed, where sweets abound.<br>Views ev'ry bell, and hums th' approving sound;<br>Poised on her busy plumes, with feeling nice<br>She draws from every flower, nor tries a floret </div><div style="margin:10px 0">twice.<br>He fears no bailiff's wrath, no baron's blame,<br>His is untax'd and undisputed game:<br>Nor less the place of curious plant he knows;<br>He both his Flora and his Fauna shows;<br>For him is blooming in its rich array<br>The glorious flower which bore the palm away;<br>In vain a rival tried his utmost art,<br>His was the prize, and joy o'erflow'd his heart.<br>'This, this! is beauty; cast, I pray, your eyes<br>On this my glory! see the grace! the size!<br>Was ever stem so tall, so stout, so strong,<br>Exact in breadth, in just proportion long?<br>These brilliant hues are all distinct and clean,<br>No kindred tint, no blending streaks between:<br>This is no shaded, run-off, pin-eyed thing;<br>A king of flowers, a flower for England's king:<br>I own my pride, and thank the favouring star<br>Which shed such beauty on my fair Bizarre.'<br>Thus may the poor the cheap indulgence seize,<br>While the most wealthy pine and pray for ease;<br>Content not always waits upon success,<br>And more may he enjoy who profits less.<br>Walter and William took (their father dead)<br>Jointly the trade to which they both were bred;<br>When fix'd, they married, and they quickly found<br>With due success their honest labours crown'd;<br>Few were their losses, but although a few,<br>Walter was vex'd and somewhat peevish grew:<br>'You put your trust in every pleading fool,'<br>Said he to William, and grew strange and cool.<br>'Brother forbear,' he answer'd; 'take your due,<br>Nor let my lack of caution injure you:'<br>Half friends they parted,--better so to close,<br>Than longer wait to part entirely foes.<br>Walter had knowledge, prudence, jealous care;<br>He let no idle views his bosom share;<br>He never thought nor felt for other men -<br>'Let one mind one, and all are minded then.'<br>Friends he respected, and believed them just,<br>But they were men, and he would no man trust;<br>He tried and watch'd his people day and night, -<br>The good it harm'd not; for the bad 'twas right:<br>He could their humours bear, nay disrespect,<br>But he could yield no pardon to neglect;<br>That all about him were of him afraid<br>'Was right,' he said--'so should we be obey'd.'<br>These merchant-maxims, much good fortune too,<br>And ever keeping one grand point in view,<br>To vast amount his once small portion drew.<br>William was kind and easy; he complied<br>With all requests, or grieved when he denied;<br>To please his wife he made a costly trip,<br>To please his child he let a bargain slip;<br>Prone to compassion, mild with the distress'd,<br>He bore with all who poverty profess'd,<br>And some would he assist, nor one would he arrest.<br>He had some loss at sea, bad debts at land,<br>His clerk absconded with some bills in hand,<br>And plans so often fail'd, that he no longer </div><div style="margin:10px 0">plann'd.<br>To a small house (his brother's) he withdrew,<br>At easy rent--the man was not a Jew;<br>And there his losses and his cares he bore,<br>Nor found that want of wealth could make him poor.<br>No, he in fact was rich! nor could he move,<br>But he was follow'd by the looks of love;<br>All he had suffer'd, every former grief,<br>Made those around more studious in relief;<br>He saw a cheerful smile in every face,<br>And lost all thoughts of error and disgrace.<br>Pleasant it was to see them in their walk<br>Round their small garden, and to hear them talk;<br>Free are their children, but their love refrains<br>From all offence--none murmurs, none complains;<br>Whether a book amused them, speech or play,<br>Their looks were lively, and their hearts were gay;<br>There no forced efforts for delight were made,<br>Joy came with prudence, and without parade;<br>Their common comforts they had all in view,<br>Light were their troubles, and their wishes few:<br>Thrift made them easy for the coming day,<br>Religion took the dread of death away;<br>A cheerful spirit still ensured content,<br>And love smiled round them wheresoe'er they went.<br>Walter, meantime, with all his wealth's </div><div style="margin:10px 0">increase,<br>Gain'd many points, but could not purchase peace;<br>When he withdrew from business for an hour,<br>Some fled his presence, all confess'd his power;<br>He sought affection, but received instead<br>Fear undisguised, and love-repelling dread;<br>He look'd around him--'Harriet, dost thou love?'<br>'I do my duty,' said the timid dove;<br>'Good Heav'n, your duty! prithee, tell me now -<br>To love and honour--was not that your vow?<br>Come, my good Harriet, I would gladly seek<br>Your inmost thought--Why can't the woman speak?<br>Have you not all things?'--'Sir, do I complain?' -<br>'No, that's my part, which I perform in vain;<br>I want a simple answer, and direct -<br>But you evade; yes! 'tis as I suspect.<br>Come then, my children! Watt! upon your knees<br>Vow that you love me.'--'Yes, sir, if you please.'<br>'Again! By Heav'n, it mads me; I require<br>Love, and they'll do whatever I desire:<br>Thus too my people shun me; I would spend<br>A thousand pounds to get a single friend;<br>I would be happy--I have means to pay<br>For love and friendship, and you run away:<br>Ungrateful creatures! why, you seem to dread<br>My very looks; I know you wish me dead.<br>Come hither, Nancy! you must hold me dear;<br>Hither, I say; why! what have you to fear?<br>You see I'm gentle--Come, you trifler, come:<br>My God! she trembles!--Idiot, leave the room!<br>Madam; your children hate me; I suppose<br>They know their cue; you make them all my foes:<br>I've not a friend in all the world--not one:<br>I'd be a bankrupt sooner; nay, 'tis done;<br>In every better hope of life I fail,<br>You're all tormentors, and my house a jail.<br>Out of my sight! I'll sit and make my will -<br>What, glad to go? stay, devils, and be still;<br>'Tis to your Uncle's cot you wish to run,<br>To learn to live at ease and be undone;<br>Him you can love, who lost his whole estate,<br>And I, who gain you fortunes, have your hate;<br>'Tis in my absence you yourselves enjoy:<br>Tom! are you glad to lose me? tell me, boy:<br>Yes! does he answer?--Yes! upon my soul;<br>No awe, no fear, no duty, no control!<br>Away! away! ten thousand devils seize<br>All I possess, and plunder where they please!<br>What's wealth to me?--yes, yes! it gives me sway,<br>And you shall feel it--Go! begone, I say.'</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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Steam-towers and looms, you'd know our Borough's 

share -
'Tis small: we boast not these rich subjects here,
Who hazard thrice ten thousand pounds a-year;
We've no huge buildings, where incessant noise
Is ..."></div>
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