PARSON MALTHUS.
By the Same.—Written in 1826.
Tune—"Ranting roaring Willie."
Good people, if you'll pay attention,
I'll tell you a comical jest;
The theme I'm about now to mention
Alludes to one Malthus, a priest—
A proud, hypocritical preacher,
Who feeds on tithe-pigs and good wine;
But him I shall prove a false teacher—
Oh, all things have but a time.
Some years ago, through all the nation,
He publish'd a scandalous book—
An Essay about "Population;"
But widely his text he mistook.
From marriage his plan's to restrain all
Poor people who are in their prime,
Lest the earth prove too small to contain all—
Such notions can last but a time.
But the Clergy who're plac'd in snug station,
The Nobles, and such like fine folks,
May continue their multiplication—
What think you, my friends, of such jokes?
What think you of Malthus the Parson,
Who slights each injunction divine,
And laughs while he carries the farce on;—
But all things have but a time.
When the poor folk of hunger are dying,
He deems it no sin in the great,
Their hands to with-hold from supplying
The wretched with victuals to eat!
Such doctrine—sure a great evil—
Becomes not a Christian Divine;
'Tis more like the speech of the Devil;—
But all things have but a time.
Now, my friends, you will readily see
Malthus' argument's not worth a curse;
For to starve the industrious bee,
Is no better than killing the goose.
That he does not believe in the Bible,
His book is a very true sign;
On Sacred Writ 'tis a libel—
Such trash can last but for a time.
Place the drones on one part of our isle,
The industrious class on the other;
There the former may simper and smile,
And bow and scrape each to his brother:
They can neither plough, throw the shuttle,
Nor build with stone and lime;
They'll then get but little to guttle,
And may grow wiser in time.