THE SHOP DESCRIBED AND THE MERCHANT'S OUTSET

Hard by the road a pigmy building stood,

Thatch'd was its roof, and earthen were its floors;

So small its size, that, in a jesting mood,

It might be call'd a house turn'd out of doors —

Yet here, adjacent to an aged oak,

Full fifty years old dad his hams did smoke,

Nor ceas'd the trade,‘ till worn with years and spent,

To Pluto's smoke-house he, himself, was sent.

Hither our merchant turn'd his curious eye,

And mused awhile upon this sable shell;

“Here father smoked his hogs ( he said ) and why

“In truth, may not our garret do as well?”

So, down he took his hams and bacon flitches,

Resolv'd to fill the place with other riches;

From every hole and cranny brush'd the soot,

And fixt up shelves throughout the crazy hut;

A counter, too, most cunningly was plann'd,

Behind whose breast-work none but he might stand,

Excepting now and then, by special grace,

Some brother merchant from some other place.

Now, muster'd up his cash, and said his prayers,

In Sunday suit he rigs himself for town,

Two raw-boned steeds ( design'd for great affairs )

Are to the waggon hitch'd, old Bay and Brown;

Who ne'er had been before a league from home,

But now are doom'd full many a mile to roam,

Like merchant-ships, a various freight to bring

Of ribbons, lawns, and many a tawdry thing.

Molasses too, blest sweet, was not forgot,

And island Rum, that every taste delights,

And teas, for maid and matron must be bought,

Rosin and catgut strings for fiddling wights —

But why should I his invoice here repeat?

‘ Twould be like counting grains in pecks of wheat.

Half Europe's goods were on his invoice found,

And all was to be bought with forty pound!

Soon as the early dawn proclaim'd the day,

He cock'd his hat with pins, and comb'd his hair:

Curious it was, and laughable to see

The village-merchant, mounted in his chair:

Shelves, piled with lawns and linens, in his head,

Coatings and stuffs, and cloths, and scarlets red —

All that would suit man, woman, girl, or boy;

Muslins and muslinets, jeans, grograms, corduroy.

Alack! said I, he little, little dreams

That all the cash he guards with studious care —

His cash! the mother of a thousand schemes,

Will hardly buy a load of earthen ware!

But why should I excite the hidden tear

By whispering truths ungrateful to his ear;

Still let him travel on, with scheming pate,

As disappointment never comes too late.—