What's to be will surely happen, by no pains or care prevented;
All in vain is sewers trapping; we had better be contented.
Wherefore vex your souls, your spirits why should you, my friend, disquiet?
He that fidgets, frets, and worrits, gets no satisfaction by it.
Since we all are born to trouble, plagues, of course, must be expected.
Being only grass and stubble, what of cleanliness neglected?
Live an let live, that's my motto; catgut-makers are our neighbours;
Knackers we no right have got to stop from following their labours.
From the premises of Jones the nose of Smith if somewhat reaches,
Caused by boiling flesh or bones, or greaves to feed the canine species,