THE WORLD! Was jester ever in | |
| A viler than the present? | |
| Yet if it ugly be—as sin, | |
| It almost is—as pleasant! | |
| It is a merry world (pro tem.); | 5 |
| And some are gay, and therefore | |
| It pleases them—but some condemn | |
| The fun they do not care for. | |
| |
| It is an ugly world. Offend | |
| Good people—how they wrangle! | 10 |
| The manners that they never mend! | |
| The characters they mangle! | |
| They eat, and drink, and scheme, and plot | |
| And go to church on Sunday; | |
| And many are afraid of God— | 15 |
| And more of Mrs. Grundy. | |
| |
| The time for Pen and Sword was when | |
| “My ladye fayre” for pity | |
| Could tend her wounded knight, and then | |
| Grow tender at his ditty! | 20 |
| Some ladies now make pretty songs, | |
| And some make pretty nurses; | |
| Some men are good for righting wrongs | |
| And some for writing verses. | |
| |
| I wish We better understood | 25 |
| The tax that poets levy! | |
| I know the Muse is very good— | |
| I think she ’s rather heavy. | |
| She now compounds for winning ways | |
| By morals of the sternest: | 30 |
| Methinks the lays of nowadays | |
| Are painfully in earnest. | |
| |
| When Wisdom halts, I humbly try | |
| To make the most of Folly; | |
| If Pallas be unwilling, I | 35 |
| Prefer to flirt with Polly: | |
| To quit the goddess for the maid | |
| Seems low in lofty musers; | |
| But Pallas is a haughty jade— | |
| And beggars can’t be choosers. | 40 |
| |
| I do not wish to see the slaves | |
| Of party, stirring passion; | |
| Or psalms quite superseding staves, | |
| Or piety “the fashion.” | |
| I bless the hearts where pity glows, | 45 |
| Who, here together banded, | |
| Are holding out a hand to those | |
| That wait so empty-handed! | |
| |
| A righteous work!—My Masters, may | |
| A Jester by confession, | 50 |
| Scarce noticed join, half sad, half gay, | |
| The close of your procession? | |
| The motley here seems out of place | |
| With graver robes to mingle; | |
| But if one tear bedews his face, | 55 |
| Forgive the bells their jingle. | |
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