| James and Mary Ford, eds. Every Day in the Year. 1902. | | | | November 7 | | The Man of Ross | | By Alexander Pope (1688–1744) |
| | | | The Man of Ross, who has been immortalized by Pope in these lines, was named John Kyrle, and died on Nov. 7, 1724. |
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RISE, honest Muse! and sing the Man of Ross: | |
| Pleased Vaga echoes through her winding bounds, | |
| And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds. | |
| Who hung with woods yon mountain’s sultry brow? | |
| From the dry rock who bade the waters flow? | 5 |
| Not to the skies in useless columns tost, | |
| Or in proud falls magnificently lost, | |
| But clear and artless, pouring thro’ the plain | |
| Health to the sick, and solace to the swain. | |
| Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows? | 10 |
| Whose seats the weary traveller repose? | |
| Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise? | |
| “The Man of Ross,” each lisping babe replies. | |
| Behold the market-place with poor o’erspread! | |
| The Man of Ross divides the weekly bread: | 15 |
| He feeds yon alms-house, neat, but void of state, | |
| Where Age and Want sit smiling at the gate; | |
| Him portioned maids, apprenticed orphans blest, | |
| The young who labour, and the old who rest. | |
| Is any sick? the Man of Ross relieves, | 20 |
| Prescribes, attends, the med’cine makes, and gives. | |
| Is there a variance? enter but his door, | |
| Balked are the Courts, and contest is no more. | |
| Despairing Quacks with curses fled the place, | |
| And vile Attorneys, now an useless race. | 25 | | |
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