Classic Poem

Divines, especially your old ones,
Will gravely tell you, if they're cold ones,
That you may father on the devil
Each act and deed of moral evil;
His back is broad enough, we know,
To bear them all, like Richard Roe.
In every suit Old Nick's engaged,
Yet strange to tell, he's never caged;
For he's at large and runs about —
The devil's in, the devil's out.
Thus grave divines have made up pills
To cure us of all human ills:
If you have lost a horse or mare,
Then you're cut off from so much care;
If death deprives you of your wife,
Why, there's an end to all your strife;
Or should she crown your brow with horns,
Bear them with patience like your corns —
They've remedies for each disaster,
For every broken head a plaster.
For instance, now there's Ellis Clegg,
You know the man has broke his leg —
No matter how, no matter where;
It's known that Ellis loves the fair.
At first he wept and called on death,
But now he's glad he kept his breath;
What has he gained then by the loss?
To use the words of Jerry Cross:
" In point of saving, let us see,
The first great thing's economy:
He saves a stocking and a shoe,
And half a pair of boots will do.
And then, if he should chance to ride,
One spur's sufficient for a side;
And if that side should move, you'll find
The other will not lag behind:
It's easy proved from Hudibras;
Nay, you may prove it by your ass.
What next? He'll save a yard of garter,
And then the gout will catch a Tartar;
If it should think to seize his oak,
How Clegg will laugh and tell the joke!
We haven't done with savings yet,
In wear and tare, and even tret:
The buckle's saved that binds the knee,
Or tape in bow-knots three times three.
The buckle's saved that binds the shoe,
And any buckle now will do;
Provided it will hold the latchet,
There's no occasion, Sir, to match it;
Odd buckles sell for one-third price,
So there's a saving in a trice.
Then soap and washing's saved, you see,
Upon the wooden deputy;
Though if you judge by shoe and shirt,
Clegg seems to like a little dirt;
And it will serve him all his life,
To bear him up, or beat his wife.
Another thing, if he should beg,
There's nothing like a wooden leg;
And when he moves upon his pins,
He's not afraid of broken shins;
Besides he stands a fourth relation
To every blockhead in the nation,
And every place of public trust
Is filled with all these blockheads first. "
Now, reader if you please we'll stop,
And moralize upon the prop.
What is a leg of flesh and bone?
If well proportioned, I must own
It adds new beauties to the fair,
And always marketable ware.
Like every other charm, they last
Until the honeymoon is past;
With age they shrivel and they shrink,
And then, alas! what must we think?
Sure it should mortify our pride,
To think the best are thrown aside.