Isaac lives in a cottage near the road side,
He envies not Princes or Kings,
Unacquainted with splendor no lover of pride,
He says it oft poverty brings.
Trudges all day with his plough void of care,
At eve to the village he flies,
In hopes a good ditty or story to hear;
For those all his wishes supplies.
Sometimes his noddle so dizzy is grown,
That he cannot exact his path find;
Yet Isaac is nettled whenever tis known,
Slaves to old Bacchus go blind.
True friendship he loves and friendly to all,
That dame fortune e'er send to his door;
With a glass of strong ale welcome them all,
Tho' it be from the labouring poor.
His wife is at all times as anxious to send,
Her boon were distress points the way;
To the needy she is daily a friend,
Her efforts oft poverty stay.
They trudge on united unblemished by art,
She delights in the dairy and cow;
From the first dawn of morn till phoebus depart,
While Isaac's engaged with the plough.
No worthier couple dwell far around,
Good nature in them can be seen;
In their happy retreat mirth wide abound,
Unknown to ill nature or spleen.
May Isaac and many that live near the town,
This Christmas most cheerfully meet;
To chat o'er a glass at the Falcon or Crown,
Join'd by others that at dwell in the street.
Both Landlords endeavour strangers to please,
By keeping of liquors the best;
With very soft beds that you may lay at ease,
When disposed to adjourn for to rest.
At Pulham Market, this motto remain,
Let us always be merry thro' life,
Drink success to our King again and again,
To banish dull care pain and strife.
To the Memory of
MR. SELF,
LATE OF
_PULHAM MARKET HALL_.
The tear of regret was observed all around,
When our neighbour and friend was consigned to the ground;
If penury hung round the Cottager's door,
He ne'er would forget to remember the poor.
So cheerful in converse you always would find,
Neither spleen or ill nature could harass his mind;
Till age made its inroads he'd join with the gay,
At manly amusements to gladden the day.
In most friendly meetings for him they would call,
For I can say with truth he was liked by us all;
Good news for his country would him much pleasure bring,
For no subject in Britain rever'd more his King.
His conduct and actions would plainly foretell,
As a husband or parent but few did excel.
He was always a friend to the labouring poor,
To serve them at all times no one could strive more.
In all parish concerns he was found to be just,
And ne'er was the man that dishonoured his trust,
May the Angel that note all our errors above,
Blot out our lov'd friends thro' angelical love:
May his spirit be numbered with those of the blest,
The moment grim death planted darts in his breast.
May his Children be strangers to every strife,
That too frequent attend many mortals thro' life;
And when it shall choose the Almighty to call
Them from earthly troubles may he pardon them all.