"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, They only would have us dig on like themselves, To be just what they are, and delight them all too! The secret, in fact, why most people condemn, I've thought of, sometimes, when amused with these cavils, A passage I met with in somebody's travels,- 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 : |