I offered to procure him weeds—
Wines fit for one in his position—
But, though an ass in all his deeds,
He’d learnt the meaning of “commission.”
He called me “thief” the other day,
And daily from his door he thrusts me;
Much more of this, and soon I may
Begin to think that Brown mistrusts me.
So deaf to all sound Reason’s rule
This poor uneducated clown is,
You cannot fancy what a fool
Poor rich uneducated Brown is.
SIR MACKLIN
Of all the youths I ever saw
None were so wicked, vain, or silly,
So lost to shame and Sabbath law,
As worldly Tom, and Bob, and Billy.
For every Sabbath day they walked
(Such was their gay and thoughtless natur)
In parks or gardens, where they talked
From three to six, or even later.
Sir Macklin was a priest severe
In conduct and in conversation,
It did a sinner good to hear
Him deal in ratiocination.
He could in every action show
Some sin, and nobody could doubt him.
He argued high, he argued low,
He also argued round about him.
He wept to think each thoughtless youth
Contained of wickedness a skinful,
And burnt to teach the awful truth,
That walking out on Sunday’s sinful.
“Oh, youths,” said he, “I grieve to find
The course of life you’ve been and hit on—
Sit down,” said he, “and never mind
The pennies for the chairs you sit on.