For while they seem to make it less, in fact they make it more,
And let the brute creation in, that was left out before.
Let's see if we can't mend it; 'tis possible we may,
If only we divide it in some newer-fashioned way.
Suppose, instead of three and nine, we make it four and eight;
You'll say, ''Twill make no difference—at least, not very great.'
Yet only see the consequence; that's all that needs be done
To change the weight of sadness to unmitigated fun.
It clears off swords and pistols, conscriptions, bowie knives,
And all the horrid weapons by which people lose their lives.