WOMAN.

Aye, it falls heavy there, and yet their pittance
Just serves to keep life in. A blessed prospect,
To slave while there is strength, in age the workhouse,
A parish shell at last, and the little bell
Toll'd hastily for a pauper's funeral!

Is this your child?

TRAVELLER.

WOMAN.

Aye Sir, and were he drest

rags

of his

And clean, he'd be as fine a boy to look on
As the Squire's young master. These thin
Let comfortably in the summer wind;
But when the winter comes, it pinches me
To see the little wretch! I've three besides,
And,.. God forgive me! but I often wish
To see them in their coffins... God reward you!
God bless you for your charity!

TRAVELLER.

You have taught me

To give sad meaning to the village bells!

Inscriptions.

Here Latimer and Ridley in the flames

Bore witness to the truth. If thou hast walk'd
Uprightly thro' the world, proud thoughts of joy
Will fill thy breast in contemplating here
Congenial virtue. But if thou hast swerved
From the right path, if thou hast sold thy soul,
And served, a hireling, with apostate zeal,
The cause thy heart disowns,.. oh! cherish well
The honourable shame that sure this place
Will wake within thee, timely penitent,
And let the future expiate the past.