Said his wife, “all our clothes are both dirty and torn,
Which will set decent people a talking;
I shall feel much ashamed, and we both shall be blamed
By those we may meet as we’re walking.”
The birds and the cattle, says Thomas, you know,
Dress all days alike, void of care;
Let us follow their plan, be as blithe as we can,
And not make things worse than they are.
“They can’t well be worse, for at home or abroad,
We’ve nothing for dinner to-day;
Our money’s all gone, and credit we’ve none,
So e’en let us do as you say.”
They lock’d up their house, and their children they took,
Unhappy at home or abroad;
And away they all went, (’twas a Sabbath mispent)
For the chance of the fields or the road.
Not long they had walked, when a neighbour they met,
And they tried his attention to shun;
But he saw them so plain, to escape him was vain,
And thus to discourse he begun:
“Where have you been wandering about, Thomas Brown,
In your jacket so out of repair?”
A rambling I’ve been, o’er the meadows so green,
And I work in the jacket I wear.
“But do you not hear the church bell, Thomas Brown?
Oh! why not the Sabbath regard!”
We a living must seek and we work all the week:
If we can’t enjoy Sunday ’tis hard!
“But what could your work do for you, Thomas Brown,
Were you not by your Maker befriended?”
Why that I don’t know,—if to church we should go,
Perhaps matters would not be much mended.
“What I say I intend for your good, Thomas Brown,
And your friend am desirous to be!”
Why that I suppose, or your time you’d not lose,
To discourse with a poor man like me.
“This world is fast hasting away, Thomas Brown,
And short are the pleasures of man;”
Then there’s no time to spare, let us drive away care,
And merrily live while we can.