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We have coroners and deodands
And inquests, to no end, And every honest Englishman 's
The hapless sufferer's friend,
And householder's or doctor's foe,
For he has nought to lose, And fain will, if he can, keep out
Of that poor dead man's shoes.
But if of twice a hundred men,
And eighteen more, the breath Is stopped at once in a coal pit,
It 's quite a natural death;
For, God be praised! the chance is small
That either you or I Should come, for want of a second door,
In a coal pit to die.
Besides, 'twould cost a thousand times
As much, or something more, To make to every pit of coal
A second, or safety door,
As all the shrouds and coffins cost
For those who perish now For want of a second door, and that 's
No trifle, you 'll allow;
beyond the mere fact of their entombment, ascertained concerning the helpless and unfortunate victims of that “auri sacra fames' which so generally, so heartlessly, so pertinaciously refuses the poor workers in the coal mines of England, even the sad resource of a second staple or air shaft. See the Illustrated London News of Jan. 25, and Febr. 1, 1862.
And trade must live, though now and then
A man or two may die;
And long live you and I;
And, Jenny, let each widow have
cup of congo strong, And every orphan half a cup,
And so I end my song,
With prayer to God to keep coal cheap,
Both cheap and plenty too,
What is it to me or you?
For though we 're mortal too, no doubt,
And Death for us his sithe
We ever die of stithe.
And if we do, our gracious Queen
Will, sure, a telegram send,
And our untimely end;
And out of her own privy purse
A sovereign down will pay, To have us decently interred
And put out of the way;
And burial service shall for us
In the churchyard be read, And more bells rung and more hymns sung
Than if we had died in bed :
For such an accident as this
May never occur again,
For pumps, air, coal, and men;
And should it occur
which God forbid!
Not one whit worse the coal.
WHEN I was young I had so much of life,
And play our double part out to the end.
A MAN 's a fool, I 've heard it said,
Or can, at forty, tell
Be it for ill or well.
Why, to be sure! who doubts a fact
So staring plain and clear? Can tell; but does he know, himself?
That is the question here.
Can tell, ay, vow and swear it 's true,
But all the while he 's wrong; Even at twice forty doesn't well know
The colour of his tongue,
Or how he is, or how he isn't,
Or what agrees or well
He's certain he can tell;
And sometimes twice as much can tell
And doubts not he tells true: The pill that has agreed with him
Is just the pill for you;
The pill; the creed - Come, open wide
Your mouth, and swallow down;
In heaven, yours is the crown.
LA LENGUA QUEDA, Y LOS OJOS LISTOS.
IDLE tongue and busy eyes
“To your argument a truce;
“Or that eyes can do no harm,
Shot by Lydia's eyes, I die.”