Gold, silver, brass, but not a link,
Composed of copper, or of zinc.
That, as it ever was the curse
Of man to go from bad to worse,
This age (the thought might e’en distract us)
Is that of vile metallic tractors!
That your last sixpence you will bet all,
Ages will follow of worse metal,
Unless this wickedness you stop,
To sweepings of a black-smith’s shop!