Divines, especially your old ones,
Will gravely tell you, if they're cold ones,
That you may father on the devil
Each act and deed of moral evil;
His back is broad enough, we know,
To bear them all, like Richard Roe.
In every suit Old Nick's engaged,
Yet strange to tell, he's never caged;
For he's at large and runs about —
The devil's in, the devil's out.
Thus grave divines have made up pills
To cure us of all human ills:
If you have lost a horse or mare,
Then you're cut off from so much care;
If death deprives you of your wife,
Why, there's an end to all your strife;
Or should she crown your brow with horns,
Bear them with patience like your corns —
They've remedies for each disaster,
For every broken head a plaster.
For instance, now there's Ellis Clegg,
You know the man has broke his leg —
No matter how, no matter where;
It's known that Ellis loves the fair.
At first he wept and called on death,
But now he's glad he kept his breath;
What has he gained then by the loss?
To use the words of Jerry Cross:
" In point of saving, let us see,
The first great thing's economy:
He saves a stocking and a shoe,
And half a pair of boots will do.
And then, if he should chance to ride,
One spur's sufficient for a side;
And if that side should move, you'll find
The other will not lag behind:
It's easy proved from Hudibras;
Nay, you may prove it by your ass.
What next? He'll save a yard of garter,
And then the gout will catch a Tartar;
If it should think to seize his oak,
How Clegg will laugh and tell the joke!
We haven't done with savings yet,
In wear and tare, and even tret:
The buckle's saved that binds the knee,
Or tape in bow-knots three times three.
The buckle's saved that binds the shoe,
And any buckle now will do;
Provided it will hold the latchet,
There's no occasion, Sir, to match it;
Odd buckles sell for one-third price,
So there's a saving in a trice.
Then soap and washing's saved, you see,
Upon the wooden deputy;
Though if you judge by shoe and shirt,
Clegg seems to like a little dirt;
And it will serve him all his life,
To bear him up, or beat his wife.
Another thing, if he should beg,
There's nothing like a wooden leg;
And when he moves upon his pins,
He's not afraid of broken shins;
Besides he stands a fourth relation
To every blockhead in the nation,
And every place of public trust
Is filled with all these blockheads first. "
Now, reader if you please we'll stop,
And moralize upon the prop.
What is a leg of flesh and bone?
If well proportioned, I must own
It adds new beauties to the fair,
And always marketable ware.
Like every other charm, they last
Until the honeymoon is past;
With age they shrivel and they shrink,
And then, alas! what must we think?
Sure it should mortify our pride,
To think the best are thrown aside.
Will gravely tell you, if they're cold ones,
That you may father on the devil
Each act and deed of moral evil;
His back is broad enough, we know,
To bear them all, like Richard Roe.
In every suit Old Nick's engaged,
Yet strange to tell, he's never caged;
For he's at large and runs about —
The devil's in, the devil's out.
Thus grave divines have made up pills
To cure us of all human ills:
If you have lost a horse or mare,
Then you're cut off from so much care;
If death deprives you of your wife,
Why, there's an end to all your strife;
Or should she crown your brow with horns,
Bear them with patience like your corns —
They've remedies for each disaster,
For every broken head a plaster.
For instance, now there's Ellis Clegg,
You know the man has broke his leg —
No matter how, no matter where;
It's known that Ellis loves the fair.
At first he wept and called on death,
But now he's glad he kept his breath;
What has he gained then by the loss?
To use the words of Jerry Cross:
" In point of saving, let us see,
The first great thing's economy:
He saves a stocking and a shoe,
And half a pair of boots will do.
And then, if he should chance to ride,
One spur's sufficient for a side;
And if that side should move, you'll find
The other will not lag behind:
It's easy proved from Hudibras;
Nay, you may prove it by your ass.
What next? He'll save a yard of garter,
And then the gout will catch a Tartar;
If it should think to seize his oak,
How Clegg will laugh and tell the joke!
We haven't done with savings yet,
In wear and tare, and even tret:
The buckle's saved that binds the knee,
Or tape in bow-knots three times three.
The buckle's saved that binds the shoe,
And any buckle now will do;
Provided it will hold the latchet,
There's no occasion, Sir, to match it;
Odd buckles sell for one-third price,
So there's a saving in a trice.
Then soap and washing's saved, you see,
Upon the wooden deputy;
Though if you judge by shoe and shirt,
Clegg seems to like a little dirt;
And it will serve him all his life,
To bear him up, or beat his wife.
Another thing, if he should beg,
There's nothing like a wooden leg;
And when he moves upon his pins,
He's not afraid of broken shins;
Besides he stands a fourth relation
To every blockhead in the nation,
And every place of public trust
Is filled with all these blockheads first. "
Now, reader if you please we'll stop,
And moralize upon the prop.
What is a leg of flesh and bone?
If well proportioned, I must own
It adds new beauties to the fair,
And always marketable ware.
Like every other charm, they last
Until the honeymoon is past;
With age they shrivel and they shrink,
And then, alas! what must we think?
Sure it should mortify our pride,
To think the best are thrown aside.