FullReads

OLD MAN.
All over it: it did one good
To pass within ten yards when ’twas in blossom.
There was a sweet-briar too that grew beside.
My Lady loved at evening to sit there
And knit; and her old dog lay at her feet
And slept in the sun; ’twas an old favourite dog
She did not love him less that he was old
And feeble, and he always had a place
By the fire-side, and when he died at last
She made me dig a grave in the garden for him.
Ah I she was good to all! a woful day
‘Twas for the poor when to her grave she went!

STRANGER.
They lost a friend then?

OLD MAN.
You’re a stranger here
Or would not ask that question. Were they sick?
She had rare cordial waters, and for herbs
She could have taught the Doctors. Then at winter
When weekly she distributed the bread
In the poor old porch, to see her and to hear
The blessings on her! and I warrant them
They were a blessing to her when her wealth
Had been no comfort else. At Christmas, Sir!
It would have warm’d your heart if you had seen
Her Christmas kitchen,–how the blazing fire
Made her fine pewter shine, and holly boughs
So chearful red,–and as for misseltoe,
The finest bough that grew in the country round
Was mark’d for Madam. Then her old ale went
So bountiful about! a Christmas cask,
And ’twas a noble one! God help me Sir!
But I shall never see such days again.

STRANGER.
Things may be better yet than you suppose
And you should hope the best.

OLD MAN.
It don’t look well
These alterations Sir! I’m an old man
And love the good old fashions; we don’t find
Old bounty in new houses. They’ve destroyed
All that my Lady loved; her favourite walk
Grubb’d up, and they do say that the great row
Of elms behind the house, that meet a-top
They must fall too. Well! well! I did not think
To live to see all this, and ’tis perhaps
A comfort I shan’t live to see it long.

STRANGER.
But sure all changes are not needs for the worse
My friend.

OLD MAN.
May-hap they mayn’t Sir;–for all that
I like what I’ve been us’d to. I remember
All this from a child up, and now to lose it,
‘Tis losing an old friend. There’s nothing left
As ’twas;–I go abroad and only meet
With men whose fathers I remember boys;
The brook that used to run before my door
That’s gone to the great pond; the trees I learnt
To climb are down; and I see nothing now
That tells me of old times, except the stones
In the church-yard. You are young Sir and I hope
Have many years in store,–but pray to God
You mayn’t be left the last of all your friends.

STRANGER.
Well! well! you’ve one friend more than you’re aware of.
If the Squire’s taste don’t suit with your’s, I warrant
That’s all you’ll quarrel with: walk in and taste
His beer, old friend! and see if your old Lady
E’er broached a better cask. You did not know me,
But we’re acquainted now. ‘Twould not be easy
To make you like the outside; but within–
That is not changed my friend! you’ll always find
The same old bounty and old welcome there.