Where Penury nurses Despair;
Where comfortless Life is a load,
Age wishes no longer to bear.
Ah! who, in this lazerhouse pent,
His lone wailings sends up to the skies?
'Tis the Man whose young prime was mispent;
'Tis he who so bitterly sighs.
2
His Youth, sunk in profligate waste,
Lest no Comforts Life's evening to cheer;
He must only it's bitterness taste,
No Friend, no kind relative near.
His Children by want forc'd to roam,
Are aliens wherever they are:
They have long left his desolate home;
Have left him alone to despair.
3
Have you seen the delectable place,
Where honor'd Age loves to abide;
Where Plenty, and Pleasure, and Peace,
With Virtue and Wisdom reside?
Autumn's Fruits he has carefully stor'd;
His Herds willing tributes abound:
And the smiles of his plenteous board,
By his Children's Children are crown'd.
4
And his is the Godlike delight,
The power to relieve the distress'd! ...
Who can contemplate blessings so bright,
And not wish to be equally bless'd.
Then let not the means be forgot:
Remember, and mark this great truth;
'Twas not Chance fix'd his prosp'rous Lot,
'Twas the Virtues of provident Youth.
5
If such a bright prospect can charm,
If you feel emulation arise,
If your juvenile bosom is warm,
With the hope to be wealthy and wise;
O cherish the noble design,
The maxims of Prudence pursue,
Application and Industry join,
'Tis the way fickle Fortune to woo.
6
Early cultivate Virtue's rich seeds;
These will fruits in Life's winter display:
Ne'er defer till to-morrow good deeds,
That as well might be finish'd to-day.
For Age and Experience can tell,
And you'll find, when you grow an old man,
Though it's never too late to do well,
You will wish you had sooner began.
* * * * *
MORE BREAD AND CHEESE.
A NEW SONG,
_Written in the Beginning of the Year 1793_.
[The Balance of Population and Supply.--The Overstock'd Hive.--The
Source of War.]
* * * * *
TO THE TUNE OF "NOTTINGHAM ALE."
1
My Brothers of this world, of ev'ry Nation,
Some maxims of prudence the Muse would inspire.
Now restlessness reigns throughout every station;
The low would be high, and the high would be higher;
Now Freedom's the word,
That unsheaths ev'ry sword,
But don't be deceiv'd by such pretexts as these:
'Tis not Freedom, nor Slavery,
That calls for your Bravery;
'Tis, only a Scramble for more Bread and Cheese.
2
When others some party are venting their rage on,
Inflam'd by the news from Versailles or the Hague,
Let Mum be your maxim ... beware of contagion ...
For Anger is catching as Fever or Plague:
Now Victuals is scanty,
And Eaters are plenty,
The former must rise, or the latter decrease;
If in War they're employ'd,
Till one half are destroy'd,
The few that are left will have more Bread and Cheese.
3
Think not that Employment's the grand requisition;
That if men had work it would make the times good;
No man would want work if he lack'd not provision;
The cry for Employ is the cry for more Food.
Now every Trade,
From the Gown to the Spade,
Oppress'd by it's numbers feels Scarcity's squeeze;
From the Prince to the Peasant,
'Tis true, tho' unpleasant,
There must be fewer mouths, or else more Bread and Cheese.
4
Now our Hive is so pinch'd, both for room and for honey,
The industrious Bees would fain kick out the Drones:
But expose not your Life, for victuals nor money;
'Tis better you supperless sleep with whole bones,
Then shuffle, and hustle,
Keep clear of the bustle,
Step out of the way-when they kick up a breeze:
Preserve your own Life,
Till the end of the strife:
Then the few that are left will have more Bread and Cheese.
5
Think not Hell is let loose with a terrible mission,
To punish a world for incor'gible Sin.
Not from angry Gods, nor from deep Politicians,
War nat'rally springs from the Passions of Men[13]:
'Tis for room and for food,
That Men fight and shed blood[14];
When sufficiently thinn'd the inducement will cease:
There'll be room for us all,
When our numbers are small:
And the few that are left will have more Bread and Cheese.
[Footnote 13: So hath said the APOSTLE. _Ja_: iv. 1 But then these
warring Passions are something very like national Sins. C.L.]
[Footnote 14: Bad as this would be, it would be well if they made not War
on Motives less naturally urgent than these: "_glandem atque ambilia
propter_." It is worse to make Wars of Heroical, still worse of
Ministerial, and worst of all of Commercial Speculation. C.L.]
* * * * *
LYRIC ADDRESS TO DR. JENNER.
[Vaccine Inoculation.--Distress and Terrors of the Small Pox.--Dangers
of Delay.]
* * * * *
1
Rejoice, rejoice, Humanity!
The fell, destructive, sore Disease,
The pest of ages, now can be,
Repell'd with safety and with ease.
2
He well deserves his Country's Meed,
By whom the peerless blessing came;
And thousands from destruction freed,
Shall raptur'd speak of JENNER'S name.
3
Yes, JENNER'S vigilance is crown'd;
A sovereign antidote is given:
The Blessing flows the Nations round;
Free he diffus'd the gift of Heaven.
4
So well approv'd it's sure effect,
To turn aside the' impending harm;
And shall parental Love neglect
To minister the precious balm?
5
Oh! no; beware of dire Delay,
Ye, who caress your Infants dear:
Defer it not from day to day,
From month to month, from year to year:
6
Lest you, like me, too late lament,
Your Life bereft of all it's joy;
Clasp now the Gift so kindly sent,
Lest you behold your dying Boy!
7
Lest you see with trembling Fear,
With inexpressible Distress;
The purple spots of Death appear,
To blast your Hopes and Happiness:
8
Lest your keenest grief to wake,
Like mine your suffering prattler say,
'Go, bid my Father come and take
'These frightful Spots and Sores away.'
9
Quickly from such fears be free:
Oh! there is Danger in Delay!
Say not to-morrow it shall be: ...
To-morrow! no; to-day, to-day.
10
Embrace the Blessing Heaven hath sent;
So shall you ne'er such pangs endure:
Oh! give a Trifle to prevent,
What you would give a World to cure.