Y mother bids me bind my heir,
But not the trade where I should bind;
To place a boy—the how and where—
It is the plague of parent-kind!
II.
She does not hint the slightest plan,
Nor what indentures to endorse;
Whether to bind him to a man,—
Or, like Mazeppa, to a horse.
III.
What line to choose of likely rise,
To something in the Stocks at last,—
“Fast bind, fast find,” the proverb cries,
I find I cannot bind so fast!
IV.
A Statesman James can never be;
A Tailor?—there I only learn
His chief concern is cloth, and he
Is always cutting his concern.
V.
A Seedsman?—I’d not have him so;
A Grocer’s plum might disappoint;
A Butcher?—no, not that—although
I hear “the times are out of joint!”