BISHOP JOSS.
Yes, that's the end of selfishness, it leads to
long vexation—
No man can pity Abe, I guess, who knows his
situation;
And, Stranger, if this man you meet, don't take
him for a sample,
Although he speaks you fair and sweet, he's set
a vile example.
Because you see him ill at ease, at home, and
never hearty,
Don't think these air the tokens, please, of a
real saintly party!
No, he's a failure, he's a sham, a scandal to our
nation,
Not fit to lead a single lamb, unworthy of his
station;
No! if you want a Saint to see, who rules lambs
when he's got 'em,
Just cock your weather-eye at me, or Brother
Shufflebotham.
We don't go croaking east and west, afraid of
women's faces,
We bless and we air truly blest in our domestic
places;
We air religious, holy men, happy our folds to
gather,
Each is a loyal citizen, also a husband—rather.
But now with talk you're dry and hot, and
weary with your ride here.
Jest come and see my fam'ly lot,—they're waiting
tea inside here.