Malvern Hills with Minor Poems, and Essays. By Joseph Cottle. Fourth Edition |
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THE MISER's WILL.
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 | Malvern Hills |  |
240
THE MISER's WILL.
A CONVERSATIONAL POEM, FOUNDED ON FACT.
OLD
Scrape-all, who had long been ailing,
Was at a trembling debtor railing,
Threatening, if he a mite should fail,
To whelm him in a neighbouring jail,
When Blunt drew near, to wish “Good day;”
The debtor saw, and slipp'd away.
The Miser, now, with sigh profound,
And wheezing cough, a churchyard sound!
Address'd, with lifted hands, his friend—
“I think my griefs will never end!”
“O, yes they will, and quickly too!”
Said Blunt. “Now tell me, how d'ye do?”
Was at a trembling debtor railing,
Threatening, if he a mite should fail,
To whelm him in a neighbouring jail,
When Blunt drew near, to wish “Good day;”
The debtor saw, and slipp'd away.
The Miser, now, with sigh profound,
And wheezing cough, a churchyard sound!
Address'd, with lifted hands, his friend—
“I think my griefs will never end!”
“O, yes they will, and quickly too!”
Said Blunt. “Now tell me, how d'ye do?”
“Do!” Scrape-all cried, “why scarce alive,
“But times may mend, and I revive:
“Your ailing people live the longest,
“Though grief will undermine the strongest.
“Oh! pity me! With all my treasure,
“My sorrows, language scarce can measure.
“The hog that wallows in his sty,
“Has thrice more happiness than I!
“My thoughts are now, while others sleep,
“Not how to gain, but how to keep:—
“Securities are bad, or badly,
“And then the taxes grind me sadly.”
“But times may mend, and I revive:
“Your ailing people live the longest,
“Though grief will undermine the strongest.
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“My sorrows, language scarce can measure.
“The hog that wallows in his sty,
“Has thrice more happiness than I!
“My thoughts are now, while others sleep,
“Not how to gain, but how to keep:—
“Securities are bad, or badly,
“And then the taxes grind me sadly.”
Blunt, (firm resolved, through sheer vexation,
To tell the truth on this occasion,
Nor suffer one, so near his goal,
To breathe false unction to his soul,)
Thus cried, “As usual, still, I see,
“Brim full of care and misery!
“Pity! I more than pity you!
“Mine is commiseration true!
“Nor would I bear your heart's commotion
“For all the mines of earth and ocean.”
To tell the truth on this occasion,
Nor suffer one, so near his goal,
To breathe false unction to his soul,)
Thus cried, “As usual, still, I see,
“Brim full of care and misery!
“Pity! I more than pity you!
“Mine is commiseration true!
“Nor would I bear your heart's commotion
“For all the mines of earth and ocean.”
“Good neighbour Blunt,” said Scrape-all, staring,
“Like me, be patient, and forbearing.”
“Like me, be patient, and forbearing.”
Blunt answer'd, chafed, and melancholy,
“No patience can endure your folly.
“Riches, the things which others bless,
“To you bring naught but wretchedness!
“But, though your purse is deep and strong,
“You know you cannot hold it long;
“Your years, on years, have so increased,
“You must be four-score, now, at least.”
“No patience can endure your folly.
“Riches, the things which others bless,
“To you bring naught but wretchedness!
“But, though your purse is deep and strong,
“You know you cannot hold it long;
“Your years, on years, have so increased,
“You must be four-score, now, at least.”
“Speak louder, friend, my ears do fail,
“I'm grown as deaf as a door-nail.”
“I say, your years have so increased,
“You must be four-score, now, at least.”
“I'm grown as deaf as a door-nail.”
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“You must be four-score, now, at least.”
“Hold, hold!” (he cried) “you're far away!
“I am but seventy-nine, this day,
“And think, whatever others fear,
“I still may reach my hundredth year!”
“I am but seventy-nine, this day,
“And think, whatever others fear,
“I still may reach my hundredth year!”
Said Blunt, “Now make me your confessor!
“Pray, whom do you keep your riches for?
“That mighty hoard of rusty pelf?”—
“Whom for!” cried Scrape-all—“for myself!
“And when, at length, I die—five-score
“Or thereabouts,—say, ten years more,
“My wealth, I do design, shall be
“Placed in my coffin, close by me;—
“'Tis right, you know, that friends should lie
“Near to each other when they die!”
“Pray, whom do you keep your riches for?
“That mighty hoard of rusty pelf?”—
“Whom for!” cried Scrape-all—“for myself!
“And when, at length, I die—five-score
“Or thereabouts,—say, ten years more,
“My wealth, I do design, shall be
“Placed in my coffin, close by me;—
“'Tis right, you know, that friends should lie
“Near to each other when they die!”
“Nay,” answer'd Blunt, “when you are dead,
“Authority, you'll find, is fled;
“Some one, no doubt, will still contrive
“To keep your slumbering hoards alive.—
“Make, make, your Will!—Howe'er it grieve,
“You must your all, to some one leave!”
“Authority, you'll find, is fled;
“Some one, no doubt, will still contrive
“To keep your slumbering hoards alive.—
“Make, make, your Will!—Howe'er it grieve,
“You must your all, to some one leave!”
“What! make my Will! My all bestow
“On some one else? No! neighbour, no!
“I'll be, whilst these my hands can hold,
“The only keeper of my gold;
“From night to morn, from morn to night,
“I'll keep it close, and hold it tight!”
“On some one else? No! neighbour, no!
“I'll be, whilst these my hands can hold,
“The only keeper of my gold;
“From night to morn, from morn to night,
“I'll keep it close, and hold it tight!”
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“You rightly speak, you are no more
“Than—‘keeper’ to your golden store;
“But, when you die, as soon you must,
“To whom will you bequeath your trust?
“One other word, I just would say,
“How will you meet the Reckoning Day!
“But you, with thousands in your train,
“Regard the Future with disdain.”
“Than—‘keeper’ to your golden store;
“But, when you die, as soon you must,
“To whom will you bequeath your trust?
“One other word, I just would say,
“How will you meet the Reckoning Day!
“But you, with thousands in your train,
“Regard the Future with disdain.”
“Yes, yes,” said Scrape-all, “'twill not do
“Too far, and close, to stretch one's view.
“'Tis fair enough for thrifty people
“To bear no liking to the Steeple,
“But, at the end, we're sure to meet—
“I mean the Sober, Chaste, Discreet!
“The Sacrament, you know, at last!
“And all things then are tight and fast.
“Talk not of Gifts, Bequests, and Wills;
“The thought, my soul with tumult fills.
“My wealth, I never will divide!
“The whole I'll in my coffin hide!
“Since Elwes' dead there's no one living
“Who knows the value of a shilling!
“Were he alive—(it is my whim)
“That noble man! I'd give it him;
“But all, except my honour'd friend,
“Believe that money's made to spend!
“Therefore, in spite of Folly's scoffing,
“I'll put my money in my coffin!—
“I, who have scraped for fifty years,
“With ceaseless toil, and hourly fears,
“Shall I give all away at last?
“No! neighbour, no! I'll hold it fast!
“There's not a soul, not even you,
“That I would give a penny to.”
“Too far, and close, to stretch one's view.
“'Tis fair enough for thrifty people
“To bear no liking to the Steeple,
“But, at the end, we're sure to meet—
“I mean the Sober, Chaste, Discreet!
“The Sacrament, you know, at last!
“And all things then are tight and fast.
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“The thought, my soul with tumult fills.
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“The whole I'll in my coffin hide!
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“Who knows the value of a shilling!
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“That noble man! I'd give it him;
“But all, except my honour'd friend,
“Believe that money's made to spend!
“Therefore, in spite of Folly's scoffing,
“I'll put my money in my coffin!—
“I, who have scraped for fifty years,
“With ceaseless toil, and hourly fears,
“Shall I give all away at last?
“No! neighbour, no! I'll hold it fast!
“There's not a soul, not even you,
“That I would give a penny to.”
“I scorn your pence! Now full behold me!
“In that said Corn you lately sold me;
“You served me in a dexterous way,
“By stuffing half the sack with Hay!
“But let that pass, since Scrape-all never
“Again will play me trick so clever.
“Now, father, mark the words I tell,
“And fancy it your funeral knell!
“Strive how you will, your wealth to save,
“You cannot hold it in the grave!
“Although, Old Gripe, it rend your heart,
“Your god and you, at length must part!”
“In that said Corn you lately sold me;
“You served me in a dexterous way,
“By stuffing half the sack with Hay!
“But let that pass, since Scrape-all never
“Again will play me trick so clever.
“Now, father, mark the words I tell,
“And fancy it your funeral knell!
“Strive how you will, your wealth to save,
“You cannot hold it in the grave!
“Although, Old Gripe, it rend your heart,
“Your god and you, at length must part!”
Said Scrape-all, sorrowful and slow,
“Well then! come twenty years, or so,
“And I will think on this affair,
“And, if needs be, appoint my heir.”
“Well then! come twenty years, or so,
“And I will think on this affair,
“And, if needs be, appoint my heir.”
Cried Blunt, “No moment lose! you now
“Your head with age, and palsy, bow!—
“I guess, when Jack, your wealth has got,
“He soon will spend it all! a sot!
“And ere you've closed your eyes a year,
“Behind a prison grate appear!”
He says “Though scarce your eye endures him,
“One little word, ‘I give,’ secures him.”
“Your head with age, and palsy, bow!—
“I guess, when Jack, your wealth has got,
“He soon will spend it all! a sot!
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“Behind a prison grate appear!”
He says “Though scarce your eye endures him,
“One little word, ‘I give,’ secures him.”
“O, spare me, friend! that subject frets me;
“The thoughts of Jack, in fever sets me:
“My spend-thrift nephew, here, I swear,
“Shall never be rich Scrape-all's heir!”
“The thoughts of Jack, in fever sets me:
“My spend-thrift nephew, here, I swear,
“Shall never be rich Scrape-all's heir!”
“Then make your Will! or, 'twill be so!
“He'll have it all, when you are low.”
“He'll have it all, when you are low.”
“What, make my Will, just past my prime,
“'Twould be to die before my time!”
“'Twould be to die before my time!”
“Nay,” Blunt replied, “be well content!
“You will not die, nor Jack lament
“The sooner for this instrument:
“And I would more in candour say—
“Do good, friend Scrape-all, while you may!
“Or else, when dead, your wealth bestow;—
“(You will not see the money go!—)
“Erect, and you will gain renown,
“A school, within your native town;
“Then build a hospital, that fame
“May long perpetuate your name;—
“Thus, when has ceased your mortal reign,
“In generous deeds, you'll live again.—
“For you 'twill be a small bequest,
“Your nephew then may spend the rest.”
“You will not die, nor Jack lament
“The sooner for this instrument:
“And I would more in candour say—
“Do good, friend Scrape-all, while you may!
“Or else, when dead, your wealth bestow;—
“(You will not see the money go!—)
“Erect, and you will gain renown,
“A school, within your native town;
“Then build a hospital, that fame
“May long perpetuate your name;—
“Thus, when has ceased your mortal reign,
“In generous deeds, you'll live again.—
“For you 'twill be a small bequest,
“Your nephew then may spend the rest.”
Cried Scrape-all, “Never, whilst I live,
“Will I a mite to any give!
“And having saved so long, can I
“Give all, for nothing, when I die?—
“Launch out, at Folly's beck and call!—
“‘Fame!’ ‘generous deeds!’—'Tis nonsense all!
“And as I cannot give, when dead,
“The Law shall give it in my stead!—
“But, as for Jack, again I swear,
“The rogue shall never be my heir!”
“Will I a mite to any give!
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“Give all, for nothing, when I die?—
“Launch out, at Folly's beck and call!—
“‘Fame!’ ‘generous deeds!’—'Tis nonsense all!
“And as I cannot give, when dead,
“The Law shall give it in my stead!—
“But, as for Jack, again I swear,
“The rogue shall never be my heir!”
One year is past!—Let thirst of gold
Its object, and its end, behold!—
Whilst none their different lots bewail—
Scrape-all is dead, and Jack's in jail!
Its object, and its end, behold!—
Whilst none their different lots bewail—
Scrape-all is dead, and Jack's in jail!
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