Nay, 'tis such folly to be lying,
And all these trifling tricks denying,
Which, ere a fortnight's past and over,
Mr. Ezekiel must discover.
Sir Jeff'ry's keen look never sees
What are but clever servants' fees,
And he would feel it to his sorrow,
Were he to change us all to-morrow;
For the new steward soon will see
No master's better serv'd than he.
There's not a carriage about town
That looks genteeler than our own;
Or horses with more sprightly air,
Trot through the street or round a square.
I say that we all do our duty,
And if we make a little booty,
We never hear Sir Jeff. complain:
And wherefore should one give him pain?
If better servants he should seek,
He must be changing ev'ry week;
And I am sure that kind of strife
Would spoil the quiet of his life:
Nay, as you know, there is no question
Would operate on his digestion;
And when that fails, it is a point
That puts the rest all out of joint.
Thus all our trifling, secret gains
Save him a multitude of pains:
And when our daily work is done,
If we kick up a little fun,
No harm proceeds—no ill is meant—
He's not disturb'd—and all's content.
—Nay, now my friends, I'll club my shilling,
And you, I'm sure, will be as willing
To drink—that bus'ness may go on
In the same temper it has done,
And, without any treach'rous bother,
That we may understand each other:
That, without boasting or denying,
We need not to continue lying;
And that, disdaining needless fuss,
Ezekiel may be one of us." |