Would friends like hers, she question’d, “choose to come
Where clouds of poison’d fume defiled a room? 
This could their Lady-friend, and Burgess Steel
(Teased with his worship’s asthma), bear to feel? 
Could they associate or converse with him —
A loud rough sailor with a timber limb?”
   Cold as he grew, still Isaac strove to show,
By well-feign’d care, that cold he could not grow;
And when he saw his brother look distress’d,
He strove some petty comforts to suggest;
On his wife solely their neglect to lay,
And then t’excuse it, as a woman’s way;
He too was chidden when her rules he broke,
And when she sicken’d at the scent of smoke. 
   George, though in doubt, was still consoled to find
His Brother wishing to be reckoned kind: 
That Isaac seem’d concern’d by his distress,
Gave to his injured feelings some redress;
But none he found disposed to lend an ear
To stories, all were once intent to hear: 
Except his nephew, seated on his knee,
He found no creature cared about the sea;
But George indeed—­for George they call’d the boy,
When his good uncle was their boast and joy —
Would listen long, and would contend with sleep,
To hear the woes and wonders of the deep;
Till the fond mother cried—­“That man will teach
The foolish boy his rude and boisterous speech.” 
So judged the father—­and the boy was taught
To shun the uncle, whom his love had sought. 
   The mask of kindness now but seldom worn,
George felt each evil harder to be borne;
And cried (vexation growing day by day),
“Ah! brother Isaac!  What!  I’m in the way!”
“No! on my credit, look ye, No! but I
Am fond of peace, and my repose would buy
On any terms—­in short, we must comply: 
My spouse had money—­she must have her will —
Ah! brother, marriage is a bitter pill.” 
   George tried the lady—­“Sister, I offend.” 
“Me?” she replied—­“Oh no! you may depend
On my regard—­but watch your brother’s way,
Whom I, like you, must study and obey.” 
   “Ah!” thought the Seaman, “what a head was mine,
That easy berth at Greenwich to resign! 
I’ll to the parish”—­but a little pride,
And some affection, put the thought aside. 
   Now gross neglect and open scorn he bore
In silent sorrow—­but he felt the more: 
The odious pipe he to the kitchen took,
Or strove to profit by some pious book. 
   When the mind stoops to this degraded state,
New griefs will darken the dependant’s fate;
“Brother!” said Isaac, “you will sure excuse
The little freedom I’m compell’d to use: 
My wife’s relations—­(curse the haughty crew!) —
Affect such niceness, and such dread of you: 
You speak so loud—­and they have natures soft —
Brother—­I wish—­do go upon the loft!”
   Poor George obey’d, and to the garret fled,
Where not a being saw the tears he shed: 
But more was yet required, for guests were come,