Poems, in English, Scotch, and Latin [by James Grahame] |
 |
EPISTLE FROM A POOR BLIND COBLER TO A RICH CANDLE-MAKER. |
|
|
 | Poems, in English, Scotch, and Latin |  |
53
EPISTLE FROM A POOR BLIND COBLER TO A RICH CANDLE-MAKER.
“Vindex avaræ fraudis.”
Hor.
Hor.
Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works
and glorify your Father which is in Heaven.
Matt. chap. v. v. 16.
Most reverend Sir, I'm truly vext
That you should counteract my text;
For tho' your works and candles shine
With lustre glorious, yea divine,
Yet if folks eyes your bratlings blow out,
You may let one and t'other go out,
And henceforth and for ever cease
To dip in gospel or in grease.
That you should counteract my text;
For tho' your works and candles shine
With lustre glorious, yea divine,
Yet if folks eyes your bratlings blow out,
You may let one and t'other go out,
And henceforth and for ever cease
To dip in gospel or in grease.
54
Your generous offer, I must own,
Surpassed expecta-ti-on;
For when you saw me robb'd of sight
You said I should not want for light,
And of complaint t'avoid all handle,
Agreed to give me coal and candle:
As for all other necessaries,
You knew the bounty of the parish.
You said too, without any stickling,
You'd send me now and then some crackling,
Which, though by some thought only fit
For feeding watch-dog or turn-spit,
Is, I must own, quite good enough,
And of your charity strong proof.
To charity I know you trust
To save your bacon at the last:
You built a church, and serve the cure,
And rail against the scarlet whore.
But is not this to please your pride?
It is—the thing can't be denied:
You think it mighty fine to gabble
To a half-witted, crazy rabble.
You preach the gospel to the poor,
Believing thus you'll heaven secure,
Of sp'ritual food full liberal,
But sparing of the temporal.
Regardless of your time and pains
You stuff and cram your hearers brains,
While their poor empty stomachs grumble
With many a woful hollow rumble.
But know (ere long you'll know't too well)
That you may build baith kirk and mill,
May cant, and whine, exhort, and pray,
And yet be damn'd eternally.
Then, while you turn and toss in limbo,
I'll sit and smile with arms akimbo,
And when you ask a drop of water,
(You call this devilish—no matter,)
I'll tell you tauntingly, go swallow
A ladleful of boiling tallow.
Surpassed expecta-ti-on;
For when you saw me robb'd of sight
You said I should not want for light,
And of complaint t'avoid all handle,
Agreed to give me coal and candle:
As for all other necessaries,
You knew the bounty of the parish.
You said too, without any stickling,
You'd send me now and then some crackling,
Which, though by some thought only fit
For feeding watch-dog or turn-spit,
Is, I must own, quite good enough,
And of your charity strong proof.
To charity I know you trust
To save your bacon at the last:
You built a church, and serve the cure,
And rail against the scarlet whore.
But is not this to please your pride?
It is—the thing can't be denied:
55
To a half-witted, crazy rabble.
You preach the gospel to the poor,
Believing thus you'll heaven secure,
Of sp'ritual food full liberal,
But sparing of the temporal.
Regardless of your time and pains
You stuff and cram your hearers brains,
While their poor empty stomachs grumble
With many a woful hollow rumble.
But know (ere long you'll know't too well)
That you may build baith kirk and mill,
May cant, and whine, exhort, and pray,
And yet be damn'd eternally.
Then, while you turn and toss in limbo,
I'll sit and smile with arms akimbo,
And when you ask a drop of water,
(You call this devilish—no matter,)
I'll tell you tauntingly, go swallow
A ladleful of boiling tallow.
| Poems, in English, Scotch, and Latin | |