Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

————It must be so;
And all things in their turn must go:
We daily see great Structures fall,
For Time, that Monster! ruins all.
What tho' my Bellows are decay'd?
It is but having Others made;
This World it self must melt away,
And go to Pot as well as they;

155

But then we are to have Another,
Then why this dev'lish Rout and Pother?

But yet—I grieve when I'm alone,
To think what Service they have done;
How often with their lab'ring Breath,
When all my Limbs were cold as Death,
Have they inspir'd the vital Heat,
And taught my lagging Pulse to beat!
How often rais'd the drooping Wing,
And bid the Muses, when to sing!
But when they come to grow in Years,
(As by their Wheezing oft' appears)
When all their Breath was almost spent,
By Art I stop'd the narrow Vent:
How oft' the bursten Wind-pipe round,
Has honest Hankerchief been bound!
(For when a Thing is almost ended,
I set my Wits to work to mend it)

156

But still my Art and daily Pain,
I found at last, was all in vain:
I blow'd and cobbled, well, what then?
Why then I blow'd and cobbled agen:
Old Time work'd on as fast as me,
Both striving for Priority;
But fast as I could bind and mend 'em,
His sharp, devouring Teeth would rend 'em:
At last th' important Day was come,
Big with my poor Bellows Doom.

'Twas on one bleak and windy Day,
When Sol gave not one single Ray,
As in my Garret high I sat,
Musing upon I know not what:
My Cat began to raise her Voice,
And make a damn'd, confounded Noise;
With that, I threw my Bellows at her,
But little thought what was the Matter,

157

It was in time of Need she squawl'd,
A Time! her Master oft' has call'd,
But call'd in vain—and so did She,
Why mayn't She want as well as Me?
However, now the Time was come,
Design'd by Fate's unalter'd Doom;
It was in this unlucky Fall,
They breath'd their Last, my Cat and all:
And now my Cat and Bellows gone,
Ye Gods! I'm utterly undone.

Alas! alas! what must I do?
My Bellows broke! and no Pecu.
And if I had—
'Twould be so small, I could not spare
Enough, to buy another Pair.
Had I my Bellows but again,
Or could I my lost Cash regain!
'Tis hard, that both should go together,
And I am destitute of Either:

158

But why do I my Loss deplore?
Who knows? in Time I may have more;
Who knows, what Providence may send?
The Righteous Man's unshaken Friend!
Then hey! for jolly, rousing Fires,
And bottled Ale, that Wit inspires,
With strong Perfumes from Indian Weed:
But faith! 'tis now a Time of Need.