| |
| “MAN wants but little here below, | |
| Nor wants that little long.” | |
| ’T is not with me exactly so; | |
| But ’t is so in the song. | |
| My wants are many and, if told, | 5 |
| Would muster many a score; | |
| And were each wish a mint of gold, | |
| I still should long for more. | |
| |
| What first I want is daily bread— | |
| And canvas-backs—and wine— | 10 |
| And all the realms of nature spread | |
| Before me, when I dine. | |
| Four courses scarcely can provide | |
| My appetite to quell; | |
| With four choice cooks from France beside, | 15 |
| To dress my dinner well. | |
| |
| What next I want, at princely cost, | |
| Is elegant attire: | |
| Black sable furs for winter’s frost, | |
| And silks for summer’s fire, | 20 |
| And Cashmere shawls, and Brussels lace | |
| My bosom’s front to deck,— | |
| And diamond rings my hands to grace, | |
| And rubies for my neck. | |
| |
| I want (who does not want?) a wife,— | 25 |
| Affectionate and fair; | |
| To solace all the woes of life, | |
| And all its joys to share. | |
| Of temper sweet, of yielding will, | |
| Of firm, yet placid mind,— | 30 |
| With all my faults to love me still | |
| With sentiment refined. | |
| |
| And as Time’s car incessant runs, | |
| And Fortune fills my store, | |
| I want of daughters and of sons | 35 |
| From eight to half a score. | |
| I want (alas! can mortal dare | |
| Such bliss on earth to crave?) | |
| That all the girls be chaste and fair, | |
| The boys all wise and brave. | 40 |
| |
| I want a warm and faithful friend, | |
| To cheer the adverse hour; | |
| Who ne’er to flatter will descend, | |
| Nor bend the knee to power,— | |
| A friend to chide me when I ’m wrong, | 45 |
| My inmost soul to see; | |
| And that my friendship prove as strong | |
| For him as his for me. | |
| |
| I want the seals of power and place, | |
| The ensigns of command; | 50 |
| Charged by the People’s unbought grace | |
| To rule my native land. | |
| Nor crown nor sceptre would I ask | |
| But from my country’s will, | |
| By day, by night, to ply the task | 55 |
| Her cup of bliss to fill. | |
| |
| I want the voice of honest praise | |
| To follow me behind, | |
| And to be thought in future days | |
| The friend of human kind, | 60 |
| That after ages, as they rise, | |
| Exulting may proclaim | |
| In choral union to the skies | |
| Their blessings on my name. | |
| |
| These are the Wants of mortal Man,— | 65 |
| I cannot want them long, | |
| For life itself is but a span, | |
| And earthly bliss—a song. | |
| My last great Want—absorbing all— | |
| Is, when beneath the sod, | 70 |
| And summoned to my final call, | |
| The Mercy of my God. | |
| |
