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wallowing in luxury, and seldom or never preaching, St. Peter certainly was a fool, who took so hard a way of travelling thither, by fasting, preaching, abstinence, and humiliation. The pope could not deny the reasonableness of the reply.

Richard Plantagenet. A Legendary
Tale. By Mr. Hull. 1774.

"The work is done, the structure is complete,

Long may this produce of my humble

toil

Uninjur'd stand, and echo long repeat,

Round the dear walls, benevolence and
Moyle*."

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* Sir Thomas Moyle, possessor of Eastwell Place, in the county of Kent, in the year 1546, gave Richard Plantagenet (who had been for many years his chief bricklayer) a piece of ground, and permission to build himself a house thereon. The poem opens just when Richard is supposed to have finished his task. Eastwell Place hath since been in the possession of the Earls of

Winchelsea.

So Richard spake, as he survey'd

The dwelling he had rais'd; And in the fulness of his heart, His gen'rous patron prais'd.

Hi Moyle o'erheard, whose wand'ring step-
Chance guided had that way;
The workman's mien he ey'd intent,
Then earnest thus did say:

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My mind, I see, misgave me not, My doubtings now are clear; Thou oughtest not, in poor attire,. Have dwelt a menial here.

To drudgery, and servile toil,
Thou could'st not be decreed

By birth and blood, but thereto wrought
By hard o'er-ruling need.

"Is it not so? That crimson glow That flushes o'er thy cheek,

And downcast eye, true answer give;

And thy tongue need not speak..

"Oft have I mark'd thee, when unseen
Thou thought'st thyself by all;
What time the workman from his task,
The ev'ning bell did call.

"Hast thou not shunn'd thy untaught

mates,

And to some secret nook,
With droping gait, and musing eye,

Thy lonely step betook?

"There hath not thy attention dwelt,

Upon the letter'd page,

Lost, as it seem'd, to all beside,

Like some sequester'd sage?

"And would'st thou not, with eager haste,

The precious volume hide,

If sudden some intruder's eye,
Thy musings hath descried?

"Oft have I deem'd thou would'st explore

The Greek and Roman page,

And oft have yearn'd to view the theme, That did thy hours engage.

"But sorrow, greedy, grudging, coy,

Esteems of mighty price

Its treasur'd cares; unto the world

The scantiest share denies.

"All as the miser's heaped hoards,

To him alone confin'd;

They serve at once to sooth, and pain, The wretched owner's mind.

"Me had capricious fortune doom'd,

Thine equal in degree,

Long, long ere now, I had desir'd,
To know thine history.

"But who their worldly honours wear,

With meekness, chaste and due,

Decline to ask, lest the request,

Should bear commandment's hue.

"Yet now thy tongue hath spoke aloud,

Thy grateful piety;

No longer be thy story kept,

In painful secrecy.

"Give me to know thy dawn of life; Unfold with simple truth,

Not to thy master, but thy friend,
The promise of thy youth.

"Now late in life, 'tis time I ween,

To give thy labours o'er ;.
Thy well-worn implements lay by,
And drudge and toil no more.

"Here shalt thou find a quiet rest,
For all thy days to come,
And ev'ry comfort that may serve,
T' endear thy humble home.

"Hast thou a wish, a hope to frame, Beyond this neat abode ?

Is there a good, a higher bliss,.
By me may be bestow'd?

"Is there within thine aged breast,

The smallest aching void?
Give me to know thy longings all,
And see them all supply'd.

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