Miscellanies, in Verse and Prose :: :: University of Virginia Library

You ask a story, not more strange than true;
Nor must I hide it from a Friend like you:
Without disguise my wretched lot behold,
In all its train of Circumstances told:
And tho' perhaps, what I shall first advance,
May make the Whole resemble a Romance;
A solemn Truth it is—no Whim, nor Jest;
Which, if you please—the Parson shall attest.

Know then, dear Sir, my present situation
Is in a small and sorry Habitation,

Ill fitted up, and fenc'd; upon the Waste,
Like other Clay-built Cottages, 'tis plac'd.
In this poor Hut I breathe with care and pain;
And, what is harder, if I durst complain,
One Minute's warning turns me out again.

Held by a sort of Copy, it appears
An easy Bargain for the First Sev'n Years:
For, free from rent, I only then resort,
As bound in duty, to the Manor Court;
There once a Week, or more, to Custom true,
My Landlord claims the Suit and Service due.
The Twenty following Years require a Rose
In annual Payment, to my worst of Foes.
My next Acknowledgment is stranger still;
For, soon or later, at my Landlord's Will,
Each Third, or Second Year, or oftener yet,
A Tooth discharges my unwelcome Debt;
And, when to answer more Demands I fail,
A meagre Catchpole hurries me to Jail;
No Miscreant, so remorseless, ever tore
Thy Journals, Fog, or knock'd at Franklin's door.

In days of Old, on better terms than these,
I might have occupy'd the Premises,
Ere a false step, my fond Great Grandsire made,
Warp'd by a wheedling Wife, their Race betray'd.
An Orchard to the Manor-house adjoin'd,
Rich in delicious Fruits of ev'ry kind:

In robbing it, the graceless Pair were caught,
By a bad Neighbour to their Ruin taught:
For by that Slip, without retrieve, was lost
A certain Privilege they once could boast;
And from the Hour when they were turn'd adrift,
Their hapless Line have made this woful Shift.

However, rubbing onward as I may,
I spare no pains to patch my House of Clay;
And keep it in a Tenantable way.
A little Kitchen serves, to dress my Fare,
Shap'd like an Oven, rather round than square:
My Garrets, poorly furnish'd, I may load
Perhaps too much, with Lumber a-la-mode.
To this low State uncomfortably ty'd,
Well as I can, for Rent-day I provide;
That when my Term (as soon it must) shall cease,
My gracious Lord may sign a full Release.

When I am outed, a mean creeping Race,
Doom'd to succeed me, have secur'd the Place;
Where they are sure to multiply amain,
Triumphant o'er their Foe in Abchurch Lane.

Mean while this Lodge, or call it what you please,
Has one snug Hole, contriv'd for warmth and ease:
On the left side of my Abode it lies,
And for my Friends a Resting-place supplies:
This to your use with pleasure I resign;
Yours is the Lodging, while the House is mine.