There is a proverb so well known
It would be ign'rance not to own
The having heard and felt its truth
E'en in the days of early youth,
That, if we chance with those to live
Whose lives a bad example give,
They will convey, as we shall find,
A foul contagion to the mind.
Thus for a time Ezekiel stood
Firm as the tree that crowns the wood,
But, after mocking ev'ry blast,
Will sometimes bend and fall at last.
Though whether he began to shake,
Or only suffer'd twigs to break, |
But still retain'd his fibres bound,
In firm defiance to the ground,
While the main trunk, tho' shook, was sound, | } |
Is what the curious mind shall know,
And no far distant page will show.
Thus the humble verse will trace
His future honour or disgrace;
As intermingled they must be
With scenes of household history. |
| |
When good Sir Jeff'ry's gout was kind
And to his bed he was confin'd;
No dainty dinner to be got,
And nought but messes in the pot,
The kitchen folk, then quite at leisure,
Would think of more than common pleasure;
Then butlers of the higher station,
And valets to gay men of fashion,
Invited were, to join the ball
Now given in the servants' hall,
With ladies' maids who titles bore
Of mistresses—whose gowns they wore;
And sometimes a smart tradesman, too,
Would pop in to say—how do ye do. |
—Here all home secrets were betray'd—
The various tricks which servants play'd,
And how their fortunes could be made. | } |
When one grave man his silence broke,
And thus to our Ezekiel spoke:—
"Had I," says he, "so fine a place,
As your superior manners grace;
Had I a rich man in my keeping,
Who passes half his time in sleeping;
Whose purse is always in your view,
And lets you pay his tradesmen too;
While, that he may enjoy his ease,
He makes you guardian of his keys,
My growing fortune soon should flow,
And in a way he ne'er should know.
If by his bed you are his nurse,
And have the jingling of his purse;
If, when the doctor comes to see him,
And you are calmly told to fee him,
You must be nam'd the veriest elf
If, then, you do not fee yourself:
Nay, when his fingers, cramp'd with gout,
Cannot well take a sovereign out,
And he should bid you take out four,
Contrive to grapple five or more.
'Tis when he's sick with aches and ails,
When pain torments and mem'ry fails,
When the night's pass'd his bed beside,
Then Fortune tells you to provide
For future wants,—and bless the hour
That gives the means into your power:
Nor ever fail, on some pretence,
To rail against the rash expense
Which doctors and their varlets bring
To patients, sick and suffering,
Till you can get him to exclaim—
'Expense is a mere idle name;
Of cost let your complainings cease,
I care not so it gives me ease:'
Then offer up your thanks to Heaven
That to his fortune it is given
To be thus blest with ample wealth,
At any cost to purchase health.
This is your harvest; I shall tell
Another story when he's well:
That time's but short,—though let him see
That then you're all economy.
When he can settle an account,
And look into the just amount,
Then, then let ev'ry thing appear
Just as it ought—correct and clear.
Thus let your speculations rove
When well below, when sick above,
And all I'm worth I now would stake
You will, in time, a fortune make.
Rich as he is, and careless too,
With such a confidence in you,
Sir Jeffery will never feel
Your happy turn in fortune's wheel." |