He Imploreth Merry for other Unfortunate Beings.
Now heaven in mercy be kind to the wretches
Who stay on the earth like this Mrs. Merdle!
More wretched than ever a wretch on the hurdle
Was drawn by all England's official Jack Ketches;
More wretched, if can be, at church on a Sunday
A woman, who worships, than God, more her dress,
Would be if she heard or e'en thought Mrs. Grundy
Would sneer at the set of a bonnet or tress;
Or say that she thought Miss Freelove's new pattern
Of laces, or collars, or yard flowing sleeves,
Looked more like the dress of a real Miss Slattern
And not “so becoming” 's the first one of Eve's.
He Discourseth of a Common Prayer.
Yet look at the thousands whose every day prayer,
Far more than their own or their neighbor's salvation,
Absorbs every thought, every dream, and all care,
“To eat or to wear, is anything new in creation?”
He Discourseth of Trouble and Sorrow.
What else do they live for? They live but for this;
And nothing but this ever troubles their thinking;
Rich eating, rich dressing, and flirting's their bliss,
And life's better purposes constantly blinking.
Their life's but a tissue of trouble and sorrow
Of what is the fashion or will be to-morrow.