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Perhaps the reason is too plain,
Of potent verse afraid !
in all my time, I've not beheld a single rhyme
That ever spoiled thy trade.
I've often read those pious whims-
That chant of heavenly riches.
But filled John's earthly breeches ?
There's not a shoe-black in the land,
As thy old cloven foot;
As thou, O Prince of Soot!
What thousands, hourly bent on sin,
To aid them to pursue it;
“The Devil made me do it."
Behold the fortunes that are made,
Yet all to thee are owing-
This is the Devil's doing.
As to thy company,
The very best is thine:
And many a grave divine.
I'm sorely grieved at times to find,
Some people so uncivil,
"I wish it to the Devil."
Hath some poor blockhead got a wife,
By one eternal yell-
To see the jade in hell."
Should Heaven their prayers so ardent grant,
To make thee downright mad;
But every thing that 's bad.
My honest anger boils to view
So much thy humble debtors,
And thus abuse their betters.
To seize one day in every week,
By whom their souls are fed
Is impudence indeed!
Blushing I own thy pleasing art
And led my steps to joy-
Who broughtst the lovely toy.
Since truth must out-I seldom knew
I never wished to part.
Yet when a child-good Lord! I thought That thou a pair of horns hadst got,
With eyes like saucers staring! And then a pair of ears so stout, A monstrous tail and hairy snout,
With claws beyond comparing.
Taught to avoid the paths of evil,
And trembling when 't was night,
And ran to chase my fright.
And every night I went to bed,
And crept beneath the rug;
And eat me, though so snug.
A haberdasher's shop is thine,
To suit both man and maid:
To vilify thy trade!
To speak the truth, indeed, I'm loath-
Without thy aid, old sweeper;
Without thy salt and pepper.
O Satan, whatsoever geer,
Black, red, or blue, or yellow;
A most bewitching fellow.
'Tis ordered (to deaf ears, alas !)
Yet often I discover
And damn it when they 're over.
Why art thou, then, with cup in hand,
Whose souls are scarce worth taking;
To set them all a quaking.
Plays, operas, masquerades, destroy:
Give race-horses the glander-
And gag the mouth of slander;
In one week's time, I 'll lay my life, There's not a man, nor maid, nor wife,
That will not glad agree, If thou will charm 'em as before, To show their nose at church no more,
But quit their God for thee.
'Tis now full time my ode should end :
Howe'er the world may scout thee;
They can not do without thee.
THE KING OF SPAIN AND THE HORSE.
In seventeen hundred seventy-eight,
The rich, the proud, the potent King of Spain,
The peaceful natives of the western main,
Was thought Heaven's cause amazingly to further;
To charm the God of mercy with their murther!
I say, this King, in seventy-eight surveyed,
A horse with stirrups, crupper, bridle, saddle:
In vain 1-he could not o'er the palfiy straddle!
At which the poor-chafed monarch now 'gan grin,
Until he got possession of his skin.