Chapter II: Part 2

No! ... Childhood shall find the scene fair,
Then here let me cease my complaint;
Still shall Health be inhal'd with the Air,
Which at Honington cannot be taint:
And tho' Age may still talk of the Green,
Of the Heath, and free Commons of yore,
Youth shall joy in the new-fangled scene,
And boast of _that_ change we deplore.

21

Dear to me was the wild-thorny Hill,
And dear the brown Heath's sober scene;
And Youth shall find Happiness still,
Tho' he roves not on Common or Green:
Tho' the pressure of Wealth's lordly hand
Shall give Emulation no scope,
And tho' all the' appropriate Land
Shall leave Indigence nothing to hope.

22

So happily flexile Man's make.
So pliantly docile his mind,
Surrounding impressions we take,
And bliss in each circumstance find.
The Youths of a more polish'd Age
Shall not wish these rude Commons to see;
To the Bird that's inur'd to the Cage,
It would not be Bills to be free.

* * * * *

THE CULPRIT.

"_Man hard of heart to Man! ... of horrid things_
_Most horrid; midst stupendous highly strange:_
_Yet oft his courtesies are smoother wrongs;_
_Pride brandishes the favours he confers,_
_And contumelious his Humanity._
_What then his vengeance? hear it not, ye Stars,_
_And thou, pale Moon, turn paler at the sound_: ...
_Man is to Man the sorest, surest Ill._"

YOUNG.

* * * * *

[His Reflections on the Propensity to gaze on Misery.--Military Punishments.--Eager Curiosity of Spectators.--Theatric Amusements.--He examines the Motives where the Distress is real.--His Dread from the Disposition of Mankind.--The Jury withdrawn.... His Reflections.--Full of apprehension.... effect of Pride in maintaing an opinion.--His fears from the diminished regard of an Oath.--This idea pursued.--Instance of false Shame.... of contempt of Shame.--Perjury.--Duty of Deliberation.... Misbodings.--Hopes from mild and conscientious feelings.--Conflict of Hope, Doubt, and Fear.--The Verdict.]

* * * * *

'Man hard of heart! of horrid things
Most horrid! and of strange most strange:'...
Thus the mournful Poet sings,
Experienc'd in Life's various range.

In the hopeful morn of Youth,
This serious Song I lov'd and learn'd,
Nor ever thought the mournful truth
Would ever thus by me be mourn'd.

Ne'er thought I ever thus should stand,
The butt of every tearful eye;
To raise the Culprit's trembling hand,
To heave the Culprit's anxious sigh.

Now the mournful truth to prove,
Gazing crouds around I see,
For sure 'tis cruel selfish love
That brings them here to gaze on me.

'Tis thus wherever human woe,
Wherever deep distress appears;
Thither curious gazers go,
To' insult the wretched with their tears.

E'en where hostile armies join
In the horrid frightful fray,
Where groaning mortals life resign,
I've heard their fellow-mortal say--

'Oh! for a safe and lofty stand,
Where I the Battle's rage might see;
When Carnage, with relentless hand,
Strews the Ground, or stains the Sea.'[9]

When list'ning, with suspended breath,
A wretch his dreadful sentence hears,
In Martial Court, where worse than Death
The Military Culprit fears.

And when encircled by the band,
Lingering torments, public shame,
Severity's most ruthless hand
Lacerates his manly frame:

When many a hardy Soldier weeps,
And grieves that he's compell'd to stay;
Who perforce his station keeps,
Or would soon be far away;

Yet see beyond the circling guard,
Idle gazers flocking round,
To see and hear are pressing hard,
As if the spot were fairy ground.

What is it that a charm imparts?
Why do they press to hear and see?
Can it be that human hearts
Delight in human misery?

When the inexorable hour
Chills the hopeless convict's blood;
When sunk and drown'd his eve'ry power,
In sorrow's overwhelming flood:

To view the scene the many run,
And o'er the hapless wretch to sigh:
Nor once enquire the crime he' has done; ...
They only come to see him die.

Various cares mankind employ;
But to gaze on human woe
Seems the universal joy,
For which they all their cares forego.

Each from his pursuit departs,
Suffering, dying Man to see;
Surely there are human hearts
That joy in human misery.

Where fictitious tragic woe
Entertains the gaudy ring,
Each the horror can forego,
And instant mental comfort bring.

When the spirits take alarm,
Prompt to anger, grief, or spleen,
Reason can dissolve the charm,
And say, 'tis a fictitious scene.

But to scenes of real woe,
Where a wretch is truely dying,
Wherefore do such numbers go,
What can be the joy of sighing?

Men of thought, who soar serene,
And loftily philosophize,
Will say they seek the solemn scene,
To contemplate and sympathize.

And all the throng will tell you so: ...
'Tis sympathy that brings them there;
They love to weep for others' woe,
And come but to enjoy a tear.

If to _enjoy_ the tear that starts,
They run the sorrow'd scene to see--
Alas! for pity ... human hearts
Delight in human misery.

Still my wretched thought thus strays,
'Midst gloomy scenes and prospects drear;
My weary mind, in various ways
Seeking Hope, still finds Despair.

This thought a weight of woe imparts,
At once to sink a wretch like me;
What can I hope, if human hearts
Delight in human misery?

Tortur'd by severe suspense,
I the Jurors' Verdict wait,
Ere I may depart from hence,
Their decision seals my fate.

Now withdrawn, their close debate
Admits no curious, list'ening ear,
But the result's so big with fate,
The Culprit must in thought be there.

And now, led on by sad despair,
Does a frightful form obtrude;
Vindictive Spleen assumes the air
Of noble, manly Fortitude.

And thus I hear the Demon say,
'Let us not abuse our trust;
'We must not be led away
'For mercy's sake, to be unjust.'

Yet he'll profess no wrath to feel
'Gainst such a hapless wretch as I;
No! ... but for the public weal,
'Tis expedient that I die.

And this his judgment once made known,
Self-love and self-conceit's so strong,
He'll rather let me die than own
That his opinion could be wrong.

Ye who the lore of distant climes
Canvass, latent truth to find;
Who hail our philosophic times,
And Man's emancipated mind:

Oh! ye who boast the enlighten'd age,
Who boast your right of thinking free ...
If e'er ye learn the lessons sage,
Taught in affliction's school like me,

Should you e'er a Culprit stand,
You'll wish mankind all Christians then;
If e'er you raise the Culprit's hand,
You'll wish the Jurors Christian Men.

When at the dread Confessional,
Men trembled from their early youth,
Taught to fear, on pain of Hell,
To utter more or less than Truth.

Then Faith could sharpest trials stand,
Man at threat'ning Death could smile,
If but his Pastor's lenient hand
Toucht him with the Holy Oil.

Full faith the solemn Oath obtain'd,
Man's mind was aw'd by priestly rule;
Steady to Truth he still remain'd,
Unless to priestly fraud a tool.

But where Church Discipline has ceas'd
To train men's minds in early youth,
Hard indeed the Culprit's case,
Whose fate depends on others' truth.

Even the man whose ways are wise,
Whose life is rul'd by Honour's laws;
Who owns, in philosophic guise,
A Deity ... a first great cause: ...

Yet boasts his mind no shackles wears: ...
'Tis hard his solemn Oath to trust;
For, without future hopes and fears,
Know I if Conscience makes him just? ...

And then, the' admitted evidence ...
Ye Jurors, can his word be true?
Tempted, in his own defence,
To feign another's crime to you.

When venial crimes in Love's gay spring,
Prompt the youthful Female's sigh;
When her roses all take wing,
And Matrons sage her plight descry;

Blushing, weeping, she'll confess
The fault her faded cheeks discover:
But, to make her crime the less,
Imputes an outrage to her Lover.

So strong the power of pride and shame,
Her frailty she will still deny;
Rather than own herself to blame,
She lets the hapless Lover die.

Is Merit from his right debarr'd;
Or guiltless charg'd with foul offence?
A Knave but speaks the perjur'd word,
And laughs at injur'd Innocence.

Laughs he at detection too?
Yes ... for he'll be but expos'd;
But set up to public view,
Should his falshood be disclos'd.

He such exposure dares defy,
Public shame is not his fear;
He who can vouch the solemn lie,
Would shew his forehead any where.

While Innocence meets punishment,
While Falshood can produce such woes,
Mercy's self must needs lament
Perjury not more punish'd goes.

Dubious may be the Culprit's case,
Though clear and open all his ways;
What Life is proof 'gainst dire disgrace,
If guileful hate his act pourtrays?

Ye Jurors cautiously proceed,
When the question's left to you,
Not 'Has the Culprit done the deed?'
But 'Was the deed a crime to do?'[10]

Grudge not deliberation's time,
Lest you should be too severe;
When Justice must believe a crime,
She lends it her most tardy ear.

How short is this momentous hour!
O! how swift the minutes fly!
Soon the Jurors, arm'd with power,
Will come to bid me live or die.

Pointed thoughts of Life and Death,
Anxious sore solicitude,
Shake my frame, suspend my breath,
When Terror's gloomy shades protrude.

But when Hope cheers me with the sound
Of Mercy's voice, of Mercy's plea,
And tells me Mercy will be found
Amongst the twelve to speak for me,

Rapt Fancy hears the Cherub plead: ...
Propitious is the Culprit's fate,
If one, by tender mercy sway'd,
Amongst the Jurors takes his seat.

One who will meek-ey'd Mercy's laws
Oppose to Rigour's doubtful rule ...
Nor quit the hapless Culprit's cause,
Though sterner Judgements deem him fool.

Blessings that wait his heart, his tongue,
Cannot elate his tranquil breast:
He courts no blessing from the throng;
He is, and ever will be, blest.

He shall win the Jury's ear,
Pity glist'ning in his eye;
Let us not be too severe....
If we let the Culprit die,

Fruitlessly we may bewail
In future, should our hearts relent:
O! then let Mercy's voice prevail;
Mercy we can ne'er repent.

Mercy smiles, and every face
Reflects the Cherub's aspect meek;
Glowing with her resistless grace,
Mercy beams on every cheek.

Hope, thy presage cannot fail.
Bid my Mary cease to mourn;
Surely Mercy shall prevail,
And I to Love and Life return.

Shall I the lenient Verdict hear,
Thrilling through my shivering frame?
Ye Jurors, clad in smiles appear,
To realize this happy dream.

Their Deliberation's o'er,
How shall I the Crisis meet?
Hark! I hear the opening door: ...
Silence and Awe attend their feet!

They enter ... though no voice is heard,
Mercy in each face I see;
They speak ... and in the single word
Is Life, and Love, and Liberty!

* * * * *

[Footnote 9: The sentiment of Lucretius--

_Suave etiam Martis certamina magna tueri_
_Per campos instructa, tuo fine parte percli._

Sweet to behold the Martial Contest spread
Wide o'er the Plains, without thy share of Ill.

But the Philosophic Poet accounts for it by the heightened sense of safety; and not on the principle of Malevolence.]

[Footnote 10: This Question may come before the Jury in Cases of _Homicide, Assault and Battery_, and other charges of that nature, which may be justifiable on circumstances: but in many if the fact is found, as in _Forgery_, &c. the criminality, with some very rare exceptions, is a legal inference necessarily resulting from the fact. C.L.]

* * * * *

YORKSHIRE DIP.

[The Country Ramble of Jupiter.--The Feast: ... It's Music, and Gaiety.--The Dip makes it's appearance.--The Consequence.]

* * * * *

Once on a time, old Legends say,
'Twas on a sultry Summer's day,
A Grecian God forsook the Skies,
To taste of Earth's felicities.
Clad like a rusticated elf,
(Perhaps _incog._ 'twas Jove himself)
He travers'd hills, and glens, and woods,
And verdant lawns, by crystal floods;
For sure, said he, if Earth has joys,
They dwell remote from pomp and noise.
He loitering pass'd the vacant hour,
For Strawberries stoop'd, or pluck'd a Flower,
And snuff'd the Zephyrs as they play'd,
In wanton curves beneath the shade.
'Till having every sweet pursued,
That leisure finds in solitude,
Resolving now to seek Mankind,
And new delights in converse find,
He left the woods, he cross'd the plain,
And join'd the Reapers' jolly train;
With Men and Maids he talk'd and toil'd,
While jocund mirth the hours beguil'd;
For Maids the cheerful labour shar'd,
And blooming health their rich reward.
When noon advanc'd, Sol's downward rays
Shedding intolerable blaze,
Compel the Labourers' retreat,
To shelter from the fervent heat;
The copse that skirts the irriguous mead
Affords a welcome cooling shade.
A Damsel from the careful Dame
With wholesome viands loaded came;
Though coarse and homely was their meal,
Though brown their bread, and mild their ale,
Gladly they view'd the plenteous store,
Dispos'd on Nature's verdant floor.
The aerial Stranger soon made free,
Nor miss'd Apollo's minstrelsy;
For chirping Grasshoppers were heard,
With dulcet notes of many a Bird
That sought at noon the umbrageous glade
And softly sung beneath the shade.
He took his place upon the ground,
With Lads and Lasses circling round;
He sat as they sat, fed as they fed,
Drank ale, and laugh'd, and talk'd, as they did;
Each playful wile, by Love employ'd,
He by kind sympathy enjoy'd;
The Lover's extasies he caught,
When looks convey'd th' enamour'd thought;
From breast to breast while raptures bound,
He prais'd the varied prospects round,
Compar'd each Lass to Beauty's Queen,
And own'd it an Elysian scene,
The jolly God smil'd all propitious,
But ah! how fatally capricious....
It chanc'd, amidst this humble Feast,
A cup of YORKSHIRE DIP was plac'd ...
A pudding-sauce well-known of yore,
When folks were frugal, though not poor;
An olio mixt of _sweet and sour_.
Soon as this touch'd his laughing lip,
That unmixt Nectar us'd to sip,
He rose, and with a threat'ning frown
Of direful Anger[11], dash'd it down,
And swore, departing in a huff,
I'll make your lives like that d----d stuff.

Too sure the Malediction fell,
As every mortal wight can tell:
For HUMAN LIFE, to this bless'd hour,
Like _Yorkshire Dip_, is SWEET AND SOUR.

* * * * *

[Footnote 11: Gods partial, changeful, passionate, unjust.[12] POPE.]

[Footnote 12: The Poet has drawn his Jupiter according to the Homeric Model, in it's least divine features. Yet I wish he had not. The _Yorkshire Dip_ (the mixture of sweet and sour) might have remained a type of Life, temper'd in like manner: not by the wrath but by the _benevolence_ of Jupiter.

... Who hath will'd
That Pleasure be co-mate of Toil and Pain,
Lest Joy should sink in listless apathy.

_... Curit acuens mortalia corda,_
_Nec torpere gravi passus fua Regna Veterno._

GEORG. I.

And accordingly the next Poem. C.L.]

* * * * *

LOVE'S TRIUMPH:

AN ELEGIAC BALLAD.

[The Expostulation.--Continued.--Fears of Poverty.--Encouragement.--Baldwin's Song.--Deceitfulness of visions indulgence.--Tormenting distressing Passions.--Comforts of a low Fortune.--Poverty in England contrasted with other Countries.--The Question.... The Conclusion.]

* * * * *

1

Come, let us seek the woodland shade,
And leave this view of towns and towers:
Sweeter far the verdant mead,
And lonely dell's sequester'd bowers.

2

Why does my Love this walk prefer;
This hill, so near the public way?
Why is this prospect dear to her?
Where Villas proud their pomp display?

3

Ah! why does Mary sometimes sigh,
Surveying this magnific scene;
The seats of Grandeur tow'ring high,
With Rivers, Groves, and Lawns between?

4

On splendid Cars, that smoothly move,
With high-born Youths gay Damsels ride;
By the encircling arm of Love
Press'd to the wealthy Lover's side.

5

Why turn to view their easy state,
As the long glittering train moves by?
And when they reach the pompous gate,
Ah! why does youthful Mary sigh?

6

Doth Envy that fond bosom heave?
Repining at her humble lot ...
Alas! does Mary long to leave
The lonely Dale and lowly Cot?

7

Pure and sincere is Mary's Love:
Words were superfluous to tell;
A thousand tendernesses prove
That Mary loves her Stephen well.

8

When list'ning to the Stockdove's moan,
Far in the deep sequester'd grove,
The blush that whisper'd, "We're alone,"
Sweetly confess the power of Love.

9

Exalted Love concealment mocks,
This feign'd indifference does but prove
That was I Lord of Fields and Flocks,
My Mary's Lips would own her Love.

10

Doth Poverty create the fears
That o'er your love their shadows fling? ...
The silence of those falling tears
Confesses all the truth I sing.

11

O! Mary, let not empty shew,
Let not the pride of gaudy dress,
Thus cloud thy morn of life with woe,
And blight it's future happiness.

12

Trust the monition Baldwin gave,
Our future bliss it's truth shall prove,
Life's cares the Lovers who dare brave,
Shall find their rich reward in Love:

13

Baldwin, the hoary-headed Bard,
I still consult when cares annoy:
He own'd for me a fond regard;
And calls me still his darling Boy.

14

His mind is fraught with spoils of Time;
He's wise and good, though known to few;
He gave me this advice in rhyme,
And here I'll read the Song to you:--

15

"Though envious Age affects to deem thee Boy,
Lose not one day, one hour, of proffer'd bliss;
In youth grasp every unoffending joy,
And wing'd with rapture snatch the bridal kiss.

16

"Let not this chief of blessings be deferr'd,
Till you your humble fortunes can improve;
None's poor but he, by sordid fears deterr'd,
Who dares not claim the matchless wealth of Love.

17

"Virtue can make most rich thy little store;
Virtue can make most bright thy lowly state:
Murmur not then that virtuous thou art poor,
While prosperous Vice can make men rich and great.

18

"The bad man may, his every sense to please,
Each soft indulging luxury employ:
The plenitude of elegance and ease
He may possess; but never can enjoy.

19

"No ... though his goods, and flocks, and herds abound;
His wide demesne to fair profusion grown;
Though proud his lofty mansion looks around,
On hills, and fields, and forests, all his owns

20

"Tho' this may tempt thee, murmuring to complain,
With conscience clear, and life void of offence,
'Verily, then, I've cleans'd my heart in vain;
In vain have wash'd my hands in Innocence.'

21

"Yet could'st thou closely mark the envied Man,
See how desires ungovern'd mar his peace;
Or had'st thou power his inward mind to scan,
How soon in pity would thy envy cease!

22

"Envenom'd Passions all his thoughts unhinge!
The Slave of Vice must thy companion move;
If still he burns with thirst of dire Revenge,
Lawless Ambition, or unhallow'd Love.

23

"'Midst gayest scenes he wean a gloomy frown:
Vain is the splendour that his dome adorns;
While he reclines on silky heaps of down,
His tortur'd mind is weltering on thorns.

24

"To prove that man opprest with mental pain,
The goods of Fortune have no power to please,
Even Suicide has oft been known to stain
The downy couch of most luxurious case.

25

"The active life of Labour gives no room
To that dull spleen the Indolent endure;
Generous cares dispel our mental gloom,
And Industry is Melancholy's cure.

26

"Repine not then, that low thy lot is cast;
Health gives to life or high or low it's zest;
'Tis Appetite that seasons our repast,
And Weariness still finds the softest rest.

27

"For all thy blessings thankfulness to wake,
Think of less cultur'd lands, less peaceful times;
Our coarsest fare, when sparingly we take,
'Tis luxury, compar'd with other climes.

28

"Think of the poor Greenlanders' dismal caves,
Where thro' their long, long Night they buried lie;
Or the more wretched lands where hapless slaves
Hopelessly toil beneath the fervid Sky.

29

"In Britain ... blest with peace and competence,
Rich Fortune's favours could impart no more: ...
Heaven's blessings equal happiness dispense;
Believe my words, for I am old and poor.

30

"Many who drudge in Labour's roughest ways,
By whom Life's simplest, lowliest walks are trod,
Happily live, to honor'd length of days,
Blessing kind Nature, and kind Nature's God."

31

What think you, is sage Baldwin right?
Should Spring-tide Love endure delay?
And shall our bliss be seal'd ere Night?
Say, lovely Mary, softly say?

32

Why starts my Love? ... why rise to go?
Will Mary then my suit deny?
Sweet is the smile that answers, No!
By Heaven, there's rapture in her eye!

* * * * *

THE PROVERBS OF THREESCORE:

AFFECTIONATELY ADDRESSED TO EIGHTEEN.

[The Contrast.--Encouragement.--The Admonition.]

* * * * *

1

Have you seen the delightless abode,
Where Penury nurses Despair;
Where comfortless Life is a load,
Age wishes no longer to bear.
Ah! who, in this lazerhouse pent,
His lone wailings sends up to the skies?
'Tis the Man whose young prime was mispent;
'Tis he who so bitterly sighs.

2

His Youth, sunk in profligate waste,
Lest no Comforts Life's evening to cheer;
He must only it's bitterness taste,
No Friend, no kind relative near.
His Children by want forc'd to roam,
Are aliens wherever they are:
They have long left his desolate home;
Have left him alone to despair.

3

Have you seen the delectable place,
Where honor'd Age loves to abide;
Where Plenty, and Pleasure, and Peace,
With Virtue and Wisdom reside?
Autumn's Fruits he has carefully stor'd;
His Herds willing tributes abound:
And the smiles of his plenteous board,
By his Children's Children are crown'd.

4

And his is the Godlike delight,
The power to relieve the distress'd! ...
Who can contemplate blessings so bright,
And not wish to be equally bless'd.
Then let not the means be forgot:
Remember, and mark this great truth;
'Twas not Chance fix'd his prosp'rous Lot,
'Twas the Virtues of provident Youth.

5

If such a bright prospect can charm,
If you feel emulation arise,
If your juvenile bosom is warm,
With the hope to be wealthy and wise;
O cherish the noble design,
The maxims of Prudence pursue,
Application and Industry join,
'Tis the way fickle Fortune to woo.

6

Early cultivate Virtue's rich seeds;
These will fruits in Life's winter display:
Ne'er defer till to-morrow good deeds,
That as well might be finish'd to-day.
For Age and Experience can tell,
And you'll find, when you grow an old man,
Though it's never too late to do well,
You will wish you had sooner began.

* * * * *

MORE BREAD AND CHEESE.

A NEW SONG,

_Written in the Beginning of the Year 1793_.

[The Balance of Population and Supply.--The Overstock'd Hive.--The Source of War.]

* * * * *

TO THE TUNE OF "NOTTINGHAM ALE."

1

My Brothers of this world, of ev'ry Nation,
Some maxims of prudence the Muse would inspire.
Now restlessness reigns throughout every station;
The low would be high, and the high would be higher;
Now Freedom's the word,
That unsheaths ev'ry sword,
But don't be deceiv'd by such pretexts as these:
'Tis not Freedom, nor Slavery,
That calls for your Bravery;
'Tis, only a Scramble for more Bread and Cheese.

2

When others some party are venting their rage on,
Inflam'd by the news from Versailles or the Hague,
Let Mum be your maxim ... beware of contagion ...
For Anger is catching as Fever or Plague:
Now Victuals is scanty,
And Eaters are plenty,
The former must rise, or the latter decrease;
If in War they're employ'd,
Till one half are destroy'd,
The few that are left will have more Bread and Cheese.

3

Think not that Employment's the grand requisition;
That if men had work it would make the times good;
No man would want work if he lack'd not provision;
The cry for Employ is the cry for more Food.
Now every Trade,
From the Gown to the Spade,
Oppress'd by it's numbers feels Scarcity's squeeze;
From the Prince to the Peasant,
'Tis true, tho' unpleasant,
There must be fewer mouths, or else more Bread and Cheese.

4

Now our Hive is so pinch'd, both for room and for honey,
The industrious Bees would fain kick out the Drones:
But expose not your Life, for victuals nor money;
'Tis better you supperless sleep with whole bones,
Then shuffle, and hustle,
Keep clear of the bustle,
Step out of the way-when they kick up a breeze:
Preserve your own Life,
Till the end of the strife:
Then the few that are left will have more Bread and Cheese.

5

Think not Hell is let loose with a terrible mission,
To punish a world for incor'gible Sin.
Not from angry Gods, nor from deep Politicians,
War nat'rally springs from the Passions of Men[13]:
'Tis for room and for food,
That Men fight and shed blood[14];
When sufficiently thinn'd the inducement will cease:
There'll be room for us all,
When our numbers are small:
And the few that are left will have more Bread and Cheese.

[Footnote 13: So hath said the APOSTLE. _Ja_: iv. 1 But then these warring Passions are something very like national Sins. C.L.]

[Footnote 14: Bad as this would be, it would be well if they made not War on Motives less naturally urgent than these: "_glandem atque ambilia propter_." It is worse to make Wars of Heroical, still worse of Ministerial, and worst of all of Commercial Speculation. C.L.]

* * * * *

LYRIC ADDRESS TO DR. JENNER.

[Vaccine Inoculation.--Distress and Terrors of the Small Pox.--Dangers of Delay.]

* * * * *

1

Rejoice, rejoice, Humanity!
The fell, destructive, sore Disease,
The pest of ages, now can be,
Repell'd with safety and with ease.

2

He well deserves his Country's Meed,
By whom the peerless blessing came;
And thousands from destruction freed,
Shall raptur'd speak of JENNER'S name.

3

Yes, JENNER'S vigilance is crown'd;
A sovereign antidote is given:
The Blessing flows the Nations round;
Free he diffus'd the gift of Heaven.

4

So well approv'd it's sure effect,
To turn aside the' impending harm;
And shall parental Love neglect
To minister the precious balm?

5

Oh! no; beware of dire Delay,
Ye, who caress your Infants dear:
Defer it not from day to day,
From month to month, from year to year:

6

Lest you, like me, too late lament,
Your Life bereft of all it's joy;
Clasp now the Gift so kindly sent,
Lest you behold your dying Boy!

7

Lest you see with trembling Fear,
With inexpressible Distress;
The purple spots of Death appear,
To blast your Hopes and Happiness:

8

Lest your keenest grief to wake,
Like mine your suffering prattler say,
'Go, bid my Father come and take
'These frightful Spots and Sores away.'

9

Quickly from such fears be free:
Oh! there is Danger in Delay!
Say not to-morrow it shall be: ...
To-morrow! no; to-day, to-day.

10

Embrace the Blessing Heaven hath sent;
So shall you ne'er such pangs endure:
Oh! give a Trifle to prevent,
What you would give a World to cure.