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"Lord bless us!" exclaims some old hunks in a

shop,

"What useless young dogs!"-and falls combing a

crop.

"How idle!" another cries—" really a sin!"

And starting up, takes his first customer in.

"At least," cries another, "it's nothing but plea

sure;"

Then longs for the Monday, quite sick of his leisure.

"What toys!” cries the sage haggard statesman,"what stuff!".

Then fillips his ribband, to shake off the snuff.

"How profane!" cries the preacher, proclaiming

his message;

Then calls God's creation a vile dirty passage.

"Lips too!" cries a vixen, and fidgets, and stirs,

And concludes (which is true) that I did'nt mean

her's.

Yet most of these sages, dear Will, would agree,
To get what they could out of you and of me,-
To stir up their jog-trotting dullness at times
With your cannonade reas'ning, or dance of my
rhymes.

They only would have us dig on like themselves,
Yet be all observation to furnish their shelves;
Would only expect us (inordinate crew!)

To be just what they are, and delight them all too!
As well might they ask the explorers of oceans
To make their discoveries, as doctors do lotions;
Or shut up some bees in the till with their money,
And look, on the Sabbath, to breakfast on honey.

The secret, in fact, why most people condemn,
Is not that men differ, but differ with them.
And yet if the world were put under their keeping,
Our only resource from a pond would be sleeping.

I've thought of, sometimes, when amused with

these cavils,

A passage I met with in somebody's travels,-
A merchant's,—who sailing from Greece to Triësté,
Grew vex'd with the crew, and avowedly testy,
Because, as he said, being lazy and Greeks,
They were always for putting in harbours and
creeks,

And instead of conveying him quick with his lading, (As any men would, who had due sense of trading) Could never come near a green isle with a spring, But smack they went to it, like birds on the wing; And taking their wine out, and strumming their lutes,

Fell drinking and dancing,—like so many brutes.

Ah, Will, there are some birds and beasts, I'm afraid, Who if they could peep upon some of the trade,

H

And see them pale, sneaking, proud, faithless of

trust,

Midst their wainscotted twilight, and bundles, and

dust,

Would wonder what strange kind of nest and of

blisses

The creatures had picked from a world such as this is Imagine, for instance, a lark at the casement Stand glancing his head about, deep in amazement ; Then turning it up to the cloud-silvered skies, Strikes off to the fields with the air in his eyes, And heaving and heaving,-thrill'd, quivering, and

even,

Goes mounting his steps of wild music to heaven.

I blame (you'll bear witness) these tricksters and

hiders

No more than I quarrel with bats or with spiders :

All, all have their uses, though never so hideous ;But bats shouldn't fancy their eyesight prodigious.

You see I can't mention the country again,

But I'm off like a Harlequin, plump through the

pane.

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