Classic Poem

Debtor and Creditor th' account begin ,
But then, comes joy — wife — misery — death — and sin .
While, from these varying lights , fierce fires we raise,
Lend but attention, and your tears shall praise.

P OOR (at first opening ) seems the plot , we chuse;
But no felt indigence unfir'd the muse:
Insolvent pris'ner bears no aweful sound ;
Yet, hope strong buildings, from that humble ground.
Few , are the public stains , that tinge the fame ,
Of this brave, rich, good-natur'd, nation's name .
Yet, one there is — from time's long license grown,
That blots out pity , and turns flesh to stone .

'Tis the deaf rage , that, where hard wants oppress,
Doubles th' insolvent suff'rer's dire distress,
Stung by this wasp , past friendships lose their weight,
Warp'd estimation wears a face like hate!
Suspended mercy bids affliction smart ,
And, in a scale of flint , immures her heart .
Self , yet unreach'd by woe — made proud by gain ,
Blind to disaster, and insulting pain ;
Short-sighted ease hugs her own lot secure ,
And marks no diff'rence , 'twixt the base , and poor!
Flings from calamity , turns short on grief ,
And to the prison, ( live grave! ) refers R ELIEF .

So, for a while — triumphantly, severe ,
Tow'rs the big insult — and disdains to HEAR ;
At last, comes disappointment home — Then, starts
Touch'd sense — and wonders! at men's cruel hearts!
Then, ( self, still, upmost ) the rows'd sleeper shakes —
And, insolently, hopes — compassion wakes!
But scorn (close waiter!) kicks the scorner's heel,
And he, that shun'd to HEAR , vouchsafes to FEEL .

Too late , he feels! — the eye , that wakes for ALL ,
Foredoom'd his anguish, and enjoys his fall;
Points, to his trembling view, that Wiseman's school ;
That God-given law th' all-temp'ring G OLDEN -R ULE !
Bids him thank bitterness — for due despair ,
And — since he could not pity — learn, to bear .

F ROM our last age's Play's exemplar aim,
Present , and past (we find) too much, the same:
Stern, unrelenting, interest's partial will
Reign'd, then , resistless: — and it reigns so, still.
How happy were th' effect , could miseries ( here )
From pride's correction ; mourn'd by pity's tear ,
Teach the dry rock to melt, in pain-touch'd flow!
And ease th' unhoping crowds — that sigh, in woe!