The Borough

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Borough, by George Crabbe (#6
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Title: The Borough
Author: George Crabbe
Release Date: March, 2004 [EBook #5210]
[Yes, we are more than
one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on June 6,
2002]
[Most recently updated: June 6, 2002]
Edition: 10
Language: English
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0. START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE
BOROUGH ***
Transcribed by Mark Sherwood, e-mail:
[email protected]

"THE BOROUGH", by GEORGE CRABBE (1754-1832) {1}
LETTER I.
These did the ruler of the deep ordain,
To build proud navies and to
rule the main.
POPE, Homer's Iliad.
Such scenes has Deptford, navy-building town,
Woolwich and
Wapping, smelling strong of pitch;
Such Lambeth, envy of each band
and gown,
And Twickenham such, which fairer scenes enrich.
POPE, Imitation of Spencer.
. . . . . . . . . . . Et cum coelestibus undis
Aequoreae miscentur aquae:
caret ignibus aether,
Caecaque nox premitur tenebris hiemisque
suisque;
Discutient tamen has, praebentque micantia lumen

Fulmina: fulmineis ardescunt ignibus undae.
OVID, Metamorphoses.

GENERAL DESCRIPTION.
The Difficulty of describing Town Scenery--A Comparison with
certain Views in the Country--The River and Quay--The Shipping and
Business- -Shipbuilding--Sea-Boys and Port-Views--Village and Town
Scenery again compared--Walks from Town--Cottage and adjoining
Heath, &c.-- House of Sunday Entertainment--The Sea: a Summer and
Winter View--A Shipwreck at Night, and its Effects on Shore--Evening
Amusements in the Borough--An Apology for the imperfect View

which can be given of these Subjects.
"DESCRIBE the Borough"--though our idle tribe
May love
description, can we so describe,
That you shall fairly streets and
buildings trace,
And all that gives distinction to a place?
This
cannot be; yet moved by your request
A part I paint--let Fancy form
the rest.
Cities and towns, the various haunts of men,
Require the pencil; they
defy the pen:
Could he who sang so well the Grecian fleet,
So well
have sung of alley, lane, or street?
Can measured lines these various
buildings show,
The Town-Hall Turning, or the Prospect Row?
Can
I the seats of wealth and want explore,
And lengthen out my lays
from door to door?
Then let thy Fancy aid me--I repair
From this tall mansion of our last
year's Mayor,
Till we the outskirts of the Borough reach,
And these
half-buried buildings next the beach,
Where hang at open doors the
net and cork,
While squalid sea-dames mend the meshy work;
Till
comes the hour when fishing through the tide
The weary husband
throws his freight aside;
A living mass which now demands the wife,

Th' alternate labours of their humble life.
Can scenes like these withdraw thee from thy wood,
Thy upland
forest, or thy valley's flood?
Seek then thy garden's shrubby bound,
and look,
As it steals by, upon the bordering brook;
That winding
streamlet, limpid, lingering slow,
Where the reeds whisper when the
zephyrs blow;
Where in the midst, upon a throne of green,
Sits the
large Lily as the water's queen;
And makes the current, forced awhile
to stay,
Murmur and bubble as it shoots away;
Draw then the
strongest contrast to that stream,
And our broad river will before thee
seem.
With ceaseless motion comes and goes the tide,
Flowing, it fills the

channel vast and wide;
Then back to sea, with strong majestic sweep

It rolls, in ebb yet terrible and deep;
Here Samphire-banks and
Saltwort bound the flood,
There stakes and sea-weeds withering on
the mud;
And higher up, a ridge of all things base,
Which some
strong tide has roll'd upon the place.
Thy gentle river boasts its pigmy boat,
Urged on by pains,
half-grounded, half afloat:
While at her stern an angler takes his stand,

And marks the fish he purposes to land;
From that clear space,
where, in the cheerful ray
Of the warm sun, the scaly people play.

Far other craft our prouder river shows,
Hoys, pinks, and sloops:
brigs, brigantines, and snows:
Nor angler we on our wide stream
descry,
But one poor dredger where his oysters lie:
He, cold and
wet, and driving with the tide,
Beats his weak arms against his tarry
side,
Then drains the remnant of diluted gin,
To aid the warmth that
languishes within;
Renewing oft his poor attempts to beat
His
tingling fingers into gathering heat.
He shall again be seen when