The Hands, Feet, and Belly.
The Hands and Feet in Council met,
Were mightily upon the Fret,
And swore 'twas something more than hard,
Always to work without reward.
The Feet said, truly its a Jest,
That we should carry all the rest;
March at all Hours thro thick and thin,
With Shoes that let the Water in;
Our Nails are hard as Bullock's Horns,
Our Toes beset with plaguy Corns;
We rais'd four Blisters th' other Night,
And yet got not a farthing by't.
Brothers, reply'd the Hands, 'tis true,
We know what hardship's y' undergo;
But then w' are greater Slaves than you;
For tho' all day we scrape and rake,
And labour till our Fringers ake;
Tho' we've been ply'd at every thing;
Yet then, without considering
What pains or weariness we feel,
W'are forced to serve at every meal,
And often, whilst you're set at ease,
Drudge to the Knucles up in Grease;
As for your Corns and Nails in troth,
We have the trouble of cutting both.
Take this not, Brothers, in a sence,
That might create a Difference;
We only hinted it, to shew
We're full as badly us'd as you;
Our Grievances are general,
And caused by him that swallows all;
The ungrateful Belly is our bane,
Whom with our labour we maintain;
The ill natured'st Rogue, that e'er was fed,
The lazy'st Dog, that lives by Bread.
For him we starve; for what d'ye think
Becomes of all the Meat and Drink?
'Tis he, that makes us look so thin,
To stretch his everlasting Skin;
Tho' we do all his Business,
What did he ever give to us?
And therefore let my Lord Abdomen
Say what he will, we'll work for no Man.
Nay if we scratch him tho' he itches,
Calls us a hundred Sons of Bitches.
And, if you do the same, you'll see, }
He'll quickly be as lean as we; }
What say ye, Brothers, do y' agree? }
Yes, says the Feet, and he be curst,
That dares to think of stirring first.
And thus the Rebels disobey;
Who swear they'll now keep Holy-day,
Resolv'd to live like Gentlemen.
His Gutship calls and calls again,
They answer'd they would toil no more;
But rest as he had done before:
But soon the Mutineers repent; }
The Belly when his Stock was spent, }
Could not send down the Nourishment, }
That's requisite for every part;
The weakness seiz'd the drooping Heart:
Till all the Members suffer'd by't,
And languished in a woeful plight:
They saw, when 'twas too late, how he,
Whom they accused of Gluttony,
Of Laziness, Ingratitude, }
Had labour d for the common Good, }
By ways they never understood. }
The Moral.
The Belly is the Government,
From whence the Nourishment is sent,
Of wholesome Laws for mutual Peace,
For Plenty, Liberty, and Ease,
To all the Body Politick,
Which where it fails the Nation's sick.
The Members are the discontent
Pleibeians; that are ignorant,
How necessary for the State
It is, that Princes should be great:
Which, if their Pomp and Pow'r were less,
Could not preserve our Happiness.
The Vulgar think all Courts to be
But Seats of Sloth and Luxury;
Themselves, but Slaves compell'd to bear
The Taxes, and the Toils of War;
But in this Fable they may see
The dismal Fruits of Mutiny;
Whilst Subjects, that assist the Crown,
But labour to maintain their own.
The Countryman and the Knight.
An honest Countryman had got
Behind his House a pretty Spot,
Of Garden Ground, with all what might
Contribute to the Taste and Sight,
The Rose and Lilly, which have been
Still kept to compliment the Skin,
Poppies renown'd for giving ease,
With Roman Lettice, Endive, Pease,
And Beans, which Nat'ralists do reckon
To be so ominous to Bacon.
The Beds were dung'd, the Walks well swept,
And every thing was nicely kept.
Only a Hare wou'd now and then
Spite of the Master and the Men
Make raking work for half a day,
Then fill her Gut and scow'r away.
In vain they beat and search the Ground,
The cunning Jilt can ne'er be found,
The Master once in angry Mood }
Starts up and swears by all that's good, }
He'd be revenged, that he would. }
Runs to a Country Knight his Neighbour,
And there complains how all his labour
Was spoil'd by one confounded Hare,
Which though the'd watch'd her every where
He nor his People ne'er could catch,
And of a certain was a Witch.
His Worship smiles and promises
To rid him of the Sawcy Puss.
At break of Day Jack winds his Horn,
The Beagles scamper thro' the Corn;
Deep mouth'd Curs set up a Cry,
And make a cursed Symphony.
Now stir you Rogues; the Knight is come
With Robin, Lightfoot, Dick and Tom.
The House is full of Dogs and Boys,
And ev'ry where's a horrid Noise,
Well, Landlord, Come, What shall we do?
Must w' eat a Bit before we go?
What have you got? Now all's fetch'd out,
The Victuals rak'd, and tore about.
One pairs the Loaf, another Groom }
Draws Beer, as if he was at home, }
And spils it half about the Room. }
What Horseman's yonder at the Door?
Why, Faith, there's half a dozen more:
They're Gentlemen, that live at Court,
Come down the Country for some Sport;
Some old Acquaintance of the Knight,
Who whips from Table, bids 'em light.
They ask no Questions but sit down,
Fall too as if it was their own.
One finishes the Potted Salmon,
Then swears, because he had no Lemon.
Good Lord, how sharp the Rogues are set!
It puts my Landlord in a Sweat.
His Daughter comes with fresh Supplies
Of Collard Beef, and Apple-pies.
His Worship falls aboard of her;
The modest Creature quakes for fear.
When do we marry Mistress Ann?
Who is to be the happy Man?
He takes her Hand, and chucks her Chin,
Stares in her Face, commends her Skin,
Removes her Linnen, shews her Neck;
There's Milk, and Blood, Gad take me Jack.
She blushes, and he vows she is
A pretty Girl, then takes a Kiss;
She don't consent, nor dares deny,
Defends herself respectfully;
And now the Knight would let her go; }
Another Rake cries, Damme no: }
I'll have a Kiss as well as you. }
He hugs her close, then calls her Dear,
And whispers bawdy in her Ear.
My charming Rogue, I would not hurt ye.
She answers not, but drops a Courtsie.
He's rude, and she's asham'd to squeak;
Her Father sees it, dares not speak;
But patiently enduring all,
Stands like a Statue in the Hall.
Now for the Garden and the Hare,
The Dogs get in, and scrape and tear,
The Horsemen follow, leap the Rails;
Down goes the Quick-set-hedge, and Pales.
The Huntsman hollows, runs and pushes,
All goes to Rack, the Borders, Bushes.
And now my Landlord cries amain,
You've ruin'd me; but all in vain.
The Cabbages are kick'd about,
And Flowers with Roots and all pull'd out.
The Beds are levell'd with the Ground,
At last poor trembling Puss is found
Hid underneath a Collyflower.
The Prey is took, away they scower,
And leave our Countryman to think
On all his Loss of Meat and Drink:
What havock's made in ev'ry place,
His Daughter wrong'd before his Face.
Small was the Mischief of the Hare
To ravenous Hunters to compare.
He wrings his Hands, and all in Tears
Repents his foolish rashness, swears,
He'll ne'er call help again in haste,
Since Hounds and Horses made more waste,
In half an hour, than all the Hares
Of th' Country could in Seven Years.
The Moral.
When petty Princes can't agree,
And strive for Superiority,
They often take my Landlord's Course,
Invite for Aid a foreign Force;
And when their Subjects Slaves are made,
Their Countries all in ruins laid,
As commonly it proves their fate,
Repent with him when it's too late.