The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe with his letters and journals, and his life, by his son. In eight volumes |
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![]() | The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe | ![]() |
James, better taught, in confidence declared
His grief for what his guilty brother dared:
He sigh'd to think how near he was akin
To one reduced by godless men to sin;
Who, being always of the law in dread,
To other crimes were by the danger led—
And crimes with like excuse.—The Smuggler cries,
“What guilt is his who pays for what he buys?”
The Poacher questions, with perverted mind,
“Were not the gifts of Heaven for all design'd?”
This cries, “I sin not—take not till I pay;”—
That, “my own hand brought down my proper prey:”—
And while to such fond arguments they cling,
How fear they God? how honour they the king?
Such men associate, and each other aid,
Till all are guilty, rash, and desperate made;
Till to some lawless deed the wretches fly,
And in the act, or for the acting, die.
His grief for what his guilty brother dared:
He sigh'd to think how near he was akin
To one reduced by godless men to sin;
Who, being always of the law in dread,
To other crimes were by the danger led—
And crimes with like excuse.—The Smuggler cries,
“What guilt is his who pays for what he buys?”
The Poacher questions, with perverted mind,
“Were not the gifts of Heaven for all design'd?”
This cries, “I sin not—take not till I pay;”—
That, “my own hand brought down my proper prey:”—
And while to such fond arguments they cling,
How fear they God? how honour they the king?
Such men associate, and each other aid,
Till all are guilty, rash, and desperate made;
Till to some lawless deed the wretches fly,
And in the act, or for the acting, die.
![]() | The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Crabbe | ![]() |