Now, though this might be, It don't seem to agree With one thing which, I own, is a poser to me,— I mean, as the miracles wrought at the shrine Containing the bones brought from far Palestine Were so great and notorious, 'tis hard to combine This fact with the reason these people assign, Or suppose that the head of the murder'd Divine Could be aught but what Yankees would call "genu-ine." 'Tis a very nice question—but be't as it may, The Ghost of Sir Ingoldsby (ci-devant Bray), It is boldly affirm'd, by the folks great and small About Milton, and Chalk, and around Cobham Hall, Still on Candlemas-day haunts the old ruin'd wall. And that many have seem him, and more heard him squall. So I think, when the facts of the case you recall, My inference, reader, you'll fairly forestall, Viz.: that, spite of the hope Held out by the Pope, Sir Ingoldsby Bray was d—d after all!
Moral.
Foot-pages, and Servants of ev'ry degree, In livery or out of it, listen to me! See what comes of lying!—don't join in a league To humbug your master, or aid an intrigue!
Ladies!—married and single, from this understand How foolish it is to send letters by hand! Don't stand for the sake of a penny,—but when you 've a billet to send To a lover or friend, Put it into the post, and don't cheat the revenue!
Reverend gentlemen!—you who are given to roam, Don't keep up a soft correspondence at home! But while you're abroad lead respectable lives; Love your neighbours, and welcome,—but don't love their wives! And, as bricklayers cry from the tiles and the leads When they're shovelling the snow off, "Take Care of your Heads!"
Knights!—whose hearts are so stout, and whose arms are so strong, Learn,—to twist a wife's neck is decidedly wrong! If your servants offend you, or give themselves airs, Rebuke them—but mildly—don't kick them down stairs! To "Poor Richard's" homely old proverb attend, "If you want matters well managed, Go!—if not, Send!" A servant's too often a negligent elf; —If it's business of consequence, Do it yourself!
The state of society seldom requires People now to bring home with them unburied Friars, But they sometimes do bring home an inmate for life; Now—don't do that by proxy!—but choose your own wife! For think how annoying 'twould be, when you're wed, To find in your bed, On the pillow, instead Of the sweet face you look for—A Saracen's Head!
FOOTNOTES:
[32] His brother Reginald, it would seem by the pedigree, disregarded this prohibition.