Classic Poem

England, they say, is famous for good-nature ,
Mum , for your catcalls — wit delights in satire .
Pit , and fond parents , when they act severely,
Tell child , they whip it — 'cause they love it dearly .
Well! Heav'n be prais'd, we've proofs of your affection ;
Lord, how you love! if we may trust correction .

Not but we've been too sparing of our labours ,
Too negligent, and naughty — like our neighbours ;
Trod, in their steps — but, with repentance ample,
So, half the world is spoil'd , by bad example .
Great is their Stock — yet, why should that misguide us?
We'll MEND — Ah! you'll not trust , before you've try'd us.
By things, ne'er seen , nor heard of — we provoke ye,
Cram ye, with novelty — enough to choak ye.
All you desire , and MORE , we'll pour upon ye,
'Till we have forc'd C OMMISERATION from ye.
And 'twill be odd, if change should here displease ye,
Which yet, at home , has seldom fail'd to ease ye!
Do — take our words — this once be kind believers ,
Nor think all women — born , to be deceivers .