A dog starved at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare,
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.

The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf's and lion's howl

Raises from hell a human soul.

The wild deer, wandering here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misused breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve

Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be beloved by men.
He who the ox to wrath has moved
Shall never be by woman loved.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.

The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgment draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat
Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of Envy's foot.

The poison of the honey-bee
Is the artist's jealousy.

The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so,
Man was made for joy and woe;
And, when this we rightly know,
Through the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than swaddling-bands;
Throughout all these human lands

Tools were made, and born were hands,
Every farmer understands.

Every tear from every eye

Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.

The bleat, the bark, bellow and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.

The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.

One mite, wrung from the labourer's hands,
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant's faith,
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt,
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the infant's faith,

Triumphs over hell and death.

The child's toys, and the old man's reasons,

Are the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply;
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known,
Came from Cæsar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race,
Like to the armour's iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plough,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet's inch, and eagle's mile,
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees,
Will ne'er believe, do what you please;
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.

To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born;

Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight;
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie,

When we see not through the eye,

Which was born in a night to perish in a night, When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,

To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display

To those who dwell in realms of day.

LONG JOHN BROWN AND LITTLE

L

MARY BELL.

ITTLE Mary Bell had a fairy in a nut,

Long John Brown had the devil in his gut;
Long John Brown loved little Mary Bell,
And the fairy drew the devil into the nutshell.

Her fairy skipp'd out, and her fairy skipp'd in,
He laugh'd at the devil, saying, "Love is a sin."
The devil he raged, and the devil he was wroth,
And the devil enter'd into the young man's broth.

He was soon in the gut of the loving young swain,
For John eat and drank to drive away love's pain;