When on the butcher’s block they lie.
Ne’er strikes th’ attention of the guest,
Host, hostess, scull’ry-maid, nor cook;
It’s—whether it be rightly drest,
And whether “paid,” or on the book.
O! little faithfuls,—eat and drink,
For on to-morrow you must fall:
’Tis good thou hast no thought to think;
Were ’t so, thy lifetime would be gall.
Trip on, lie down and go to sleep,