Of cunning jugglers from far foreign lands;
Buddhistic bosh which no one understands,
A thousand fads that ’gainst good sense conspire.
To gag the crotcheteers and tie their hands,
This must be every sober man’s desire.
L’Envoy.
Donkeys, and ye whom frenzy quickeneth,
Heed well this rhyme. Life’s many burdens tire.
To lighten them a little, ere our death,
This must be every kindly man’s desire.