Counsel for cottagers and a looking-glass for landlords By R. E. Egerton-Warburton |
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COUNSEL FOR COTTAGERS. |
 | Counsel for cottagers and a looking-glass for landlords |  |
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COUNSEL FOR COTTAGERS.
A workman worth your weight in gold,
Good Samuel, think not over bold
Your Master, if his friendly pen
For you and for your fellow men—
For all who by their labour live—
A word of honest counsel give.
Good Samuel, think not over bold
Your Master, if his friendly pen
For you and for your fellow men—
For all who by their labour live—
A word of honest counsel give.
No harm I trust in my intent,
And, since the Vicar gives consent,
A homely Sermon I propose
To preach in verse, instead of prose.
To Nan, while she her needle threads,
This read, till nodding both your heads.
No doctrine to perplex your brain;
The practice that I preach is plain—
Plain as the needlework she sews,
Which needs no spectacles on nose.
If more than you, by toil opprest,
Can easily at once digest;
My sermon into portions split,
And read it over, bit by bit.
And, since the Vicar gives consent,
A homely Sermon I propose
To preach in verse, instead of prose.
To Nan, while she her needle threads,
This read, till nodding both your heads.
No doctrine to perplex your brain;
The practice that I preach is plain—
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Which needs no spectacles on nose.
If more than you, by toil opprest,
Can easily at once digest;
My sermon into portions split,
And read it over, bit by bit.
The text that I shall take is this,
Writ in the Book of Genesis;
See chapter three, and verse nineteen,
Words speaking clearly what they mean:
“By sweat thy bread thou here shalt earn,
Till thou again to dust return.”
Writ in the Book of Genesis;
See chapter three, and verse nineteen,
Words speaking clearly what they mean:
“By sweat thy bread thou here shalt earn,
Till thou again to dust return.”
Attention, first, lest sin ensnare,
Devoutly give to praise and prayer.
Thank, on your knees, the God of Heaven
Each morn for rest to labour given;
And ask, ere labour you begin,
For health and strength your bread to win.
With cheerful heart then take the field,
Skill'd in each weapon that you wield,
Or axe, or bill-hook, spade, or rake,
To fell, to delve, to tine and stake
The hedge, or summer hay to make.
Devoutly give to praise and prayer.
Thank, on your knees, the God of Heaven
Each morn for rest to labour given;
And ask, ere labour you begin,
For health and strength your bread to win.
With cheerful heart then take the field,
Skill'd in each weapon that you wield,
Or axe, or bill-hook, spade, or rake,
To fell, to delve, to tine and stake
The hedge, or summer hay to make.
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With whomsoever you engage,
Give honest work for honest wage;
If e'er in idleness detected,
Or chidden for some task neglected,
Though nettled conscience feel the smart,
Curse not the master in your heart;
Nor vent your wrath in oath outright
Of loud abuse, when out of sight:
The inward curse, the outward oath,
A God there is Who heareth both.
Give honest work for honest wage;
If e'er in idleness detected,
Or chidden for some task neglected,
Though nettled conscience feel the smart,
Curse not the master in your heart;
Nor vent your wrath in oath outright
Of loud abuse, when out of sight:
The inward curse, the outward oath,
A God there is Who heareth both.
When threatening clouds a shower denote,
Ere quite wet through, put on your coat;
'Tis better for yourself and master,
Than, later on, the “Poor Man's Plaister.”
Ere quite wet through, put on your coat;
'Tis better for yourself and master,
Than, later on, the “Poor Man's Plaister.”
When, down the pathway, bustling Nan
At noon-day brings the dinner-can,
How many a pamper'd son of wealth
Would envy then your vigorous health,
And envy too, as well he might,
The vigour of your appetite.
At noon-day brings the dinner-can,
How many a pamper'd son of wealth
Would envy then your vigorous health,
And envy too, as well he might,
The vigour of your appetite.
To betters met upon the way
Take off your hat and bid “good day;”
Not that in worth they better be
Than you, but it is Heaven's decree
That all men should, in their gradation,
Due honour yield to every station.
And, though your years have reach'd four score,
And doctors ne'er have cross'd your door,
Reject not, till on death-bed laid,
The visit by the parson paid.
For, with a body sound and whole,
Some evil may infest your soul;
As through a dwelling creeps dry rot
And spreads decay, though heeded not.
Take off your hat and bid “good day;”
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Than you, but it is Heaven's decree
That all men should, in their gradation,
Due honour yield to every station.
And, though your years have reach'd four score,
And doctors ne'er have cross'd your door,
Reject not, till on death-bed laid,
The visit by the parson paid.
For, with a body sound and whole,
Some evil may infest your soul;
As through a dwelling creeps dry rot
And spreads decay, though heeded not.
Home straightway trudge when work is o'er,
Where, latch uplifted, at the door
Stands Nancy, with a smile to greet
And welcome back your weary feet;
While merry children climb your chair,
Their father's evening meal to share.
Where, latch uplifted, at the door
Stands Nancy, with a smile to greet
And welcome back your weary feet;
While merry children climb your chair,
Their father's evening meal to share.
O! happy circle, happy spot,
More happy still the owner's lot!
Can he who, born and nurtur'd there,
Hath breath'd the breath of heaven's pure air,
In mine or mill his hands engage,
Entic'd by lure of ampler wage,—
Wage, which oft straightway from the mill
Is carried to the Tap-room till?
For a few years (say five or ten)
He pines and struggles, and what then?
He who was once a labourer stout,
A cinder now, the gas burnt out.
More happy still the owner's lot!
Can he who, born and nurtur'd there,
Hath breath'd the breath of heaven's pure air,
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Entic'd by lure of ampler wage,—
Wage, which oft straightway from the mill
Is carried to the Tap-room till?
For a few years (say five or ten)
He pines and struggles, and what then?
He who was once a labourer stout,
A cinder now, the gas burnt out.
A king once Italy o'errun
Named Attila, a warlike Hun;
Who is it comes our fields to spoil,
Invading now our fruitful soil?
More pestilent a scourge is he
Than Attila—King Alkali!
He comes not hither sword in hand;
His breath spreads poison o'er the land;
He opens wide his filthy mouth,
And winds disperse it north and south!
King Alkali, though England's curse,
What cares he while he fills his purse?
Behold the wide-spread desolation!
Behold the wither'd vegetation!
The once broad oak a gibbet now,
With sapless trunk and blighted bough.
In vain the housewife drains the teat,
The tainted milk no longer sweet;
Rank herbage where the hay crop grew,
With vitriol fed instead of dew;
Oats sulphur-shrivell'd, poison'd wheat,
Nought left to either sell or eat.
Named Attila, a warlike Hun;
Who is it comes our fields to spoil,
Invading now our fruitful soil?
More pestilent a scourge is he
Than Attila—King Alkali!
He comes not hither sword in hand;
His breath spreads poison o'er the land;
He opens wide his filthy mouth,
And winds disperse it north and south!
King Alkali, though England's curse,
What cares he while he fills his purse?
Behold the wide-spread desolation!
Behold the wither'd vegetation!
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With sapless trunk and blighted bough.
In vain the housewife drains the teat,
The tainted milk no longer sweet;
Rank herbage where the hay crop grew,
With vitriol fed instead of dew;
Oats sulphur-shrivell'd, poison'd wheat,
Nought left to either sell or eat.
The truth of this let Widnes tell,
Woe be to those who near it dwell!
Though many are the ills they share,
None ever died of sunstroke there;
For powerless there the mid-day beam
To harm them wrapp'd in smoke and steam;
They neither need in Widnes street
The light of sunshine or the heat:
Their boast that they can both surpass
With furnace fire and flaming gas.
Woe be to those who near it dwell!
Though many are the ills they share,
None ever died of sunstroke there;
For powerless there the mid-day beam
To harm them wrapp'd in smoke and steam;
They neither need in Widnes street
The light of sunshine or the heat:
Their boast that they can both surpass
With furnace fire and flaming gas.
Ere stifled in this loathsome den,
Return we to your home again.
A word in season let me drop,
Though needless, on your garden crop.
Clothe, shelter'd by the cottage wall,
One narrow bed, however small,
With wholesome herb and scented flower.
Let jessamine the porch embower;
Let roses nod against the pane,
The quarry with their blush to stain;
Let sweetbriar shed its fragrance round,
And violets blue bedeck the ground;
Aslant the pointed hedgerow clip;
The weeds from every border strip;
The orchard stock—excell'd by none,
The Keswick and the apple John;
If well your soil the damson suit,
In Autumn hung with purple fruit,
Each bushel will repay you well,
When they at half-a-guinea sell;
Potatoes, such their various kind,
Be not to one your choice confin'd.
Return we to your home again.
A word in season let me drop,
Though needless, on your garden crop.
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One narrow bed, however small,
With wholesome herb and scented flower.
Let jessamine the porch embower;
Let roses nod against the pane,
The quarry with their blush to stain;
Let sweetbriar shed its fragrance round,
And violets blue bedeck the ground;
Aslant the pointed hedgerow clip;
The weeds from every border strip;
The orchard stock—excell'd by none,
The Keswick and the apple John;
If well your soil the damson suit,
In Autumn hung with purple fruit,
Each bushel will repay you well,
When they at half-a-guinea sell;
Potatoes, such their various kind,
Be not to one your choice confin'd.
More precious seed, your toil to bless—
Heartsease, Content, and Happiness—
Will in that little plot take root,
Bear brighter bloom and richer fruit,
Than that with lavish gold-dust sown,
By hands which half a county own.
Heartsease, Content, and Happiness—
Will in that little plot take root,
Bear brighter bloom and richer fruit,
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By hands which half a county own.
The model farm has stripp'd you bare;
Where all is straight and all is square,
No inch will the improver spare.
Fain would I, could I gain the chance,
Reclaim your lost inheritance;
What eye hath not with pleasure seen
The margin of the wayside green?
The hedge where honeysuckles trail,
The mossy bank, the primrose pale?
Who hath not heard, on that blest ground,
Of childhood's laugh the merry sound?
Or seen those tiny hands pick up
The acorn, tumbled from its cup?
Poor things! what other toys have they,
What other playground for their play!
Where all is straight and all is square,
No inch will the improver spare.
Fain would I, could I gain the chance,
Reclaim your lost inheritance;
What eye hath not with pleasure seen
The margin of the wayside green?
The hedge where honeysuckles trail,
The mossy bank, the primrose pale?
Who hath not heard, on that blest ground,
Of childhood's laugh the merry sound?
Or seen those tiny hands pick up
The acorn, tumbled from its cup?
Poor things! what other toys have they,
What other playground for their play!
It is the poor man's park,—in spite
Of farm encroachment, his by right.
Ye Lords, who own the neighbouring land,
Restrain the Agent's grasping hand;
Grudge not the crumbs—a pittance small—
That from the rich man's table fall;
And, spite of tyrant laws, allow
That pasture to the poor man's cow.
Of farm encroachment, his by right.
Ye Lords, who own the neighbouring land,
Restrain the Agent's grasping hand;
Grudge not the crumbs—a pittance small—
That from the rich man's table fall;
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That pasture to the poor man's cow.
Here would I in few words explain
Your children how to teach and train;
Ere yet I end my Sermon, show
The way they should and should not go.
Teach first at home that golden rule,
Worth all that they will learn at school,
Teach, whether it be yea or nay,—
Teach them when bidden to obey.
Your children how to teach and train;
Ere yet I end my Sermon, show
The way they should and should not go.
Teach first at home that golden rule,
Worth all that they will learn at school,
Teach, whether it be yea or nay,—
Teach them when bidden to obey.
E'en Nan to this assent will nod,
They spoil the child who spare the rod;
For with it, or without it, still
Subdued must be the stubborn will.
And yet let kindness cheer the home,
Lest he with evil comrades roam;
As from a viper, bid him shrink
From every snare that lures to drink;
That demon, if it once entice,
Will lead him on from vice to vice.
If he should honest spade work shun,
To handle the night poacher's gun;
Or if, at length, no shilling left,
He takes to robbery and theft;
Such, though he 'scape the gallows tree,
Will end in rags and beggary.
They spoil the child who spare the rod;
For with it, or without it, still
Subdued must be the stubborn will.
And yet let kindness cheer the home,
Lest he with evil comrades roam;
As from a viper, bid him shrink
From every snare that lures to drink;
That demon, if it once entice,
Will lead him on from vice to vice.
If he should honest spade work shun,
To handle the night poacher's gun;
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He takes to robbery and theft;
Such, though he 'scape the gallows tree,
Will end in rags and beggary.
Drink is man's curse; a curse no less
To woman is the love of dress;—
'Twas never meant that village maid
Should flount in satin and brocade.
I'd rather meet, at early morn,
While yet the dew-drop gems the thorn,
The milkmaid in her cotton vest
And petticoat of lindsey drest,
The milkpail pois'd upon her head,
With rosy health her cheek o'erspread,
Than see in all the glitt'ring sheen
Of gold and diamonds Sheba's Queen.
The love of finery has laid
In hopeless ruin many a maid.
Some villain feigns her love to claim,
Then leaves her friendless in her shame;
Betray'd, dishonour'd past recall,
How speedy then her downward fall!
Despair pursues her wand'ring feet,
Starvation, or the midnight street.
O'er such a fate who can forbear
To shed a tear and breathe a prayer?
To woman is the love of dress;—
'Twas never meant that village maid
Should flount in satin and brocade.
I'd rather meet, at early morn,
While yet the dew-drop gems the thorn,
The milkmaid in her cotton vest
And petticoat of lindsey drest,
The milkpail pois'd upon her head,
With rosy health her cheek o'erspread,
Than see in all the glitt'ring sheen
Of gold and diamonds Sheba's Queen.
The love of finery has laid
In hopeless ruin many a maid.
Some villain feigns her love to claim,
Then leaves her friendless in her shame;
Betray'd, dishonour'd past recall,
How speedy then her downward fall!
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Starvation, or the midnight street.
O'er such a fate who can forbear
To shed a tear and breathe a prayer?
Though nought be new in what I've said,
Yet wholesome 'tis as daily bread.
With no unwilling ear attend
To one who claims to be your friend,
Among you who delights to dwell,
Who knows you and who loves you well.
But God in Holy Writ will teach
More precious lore than I can preach.
Whate'er the task which you pursue,
Success to Him alone is due.
That God Who careth for the poor,—
Their wage who work for Him is sure.
Yet wholesome 'tis as daily bread.
With no unwilling ear attend
To one who claims to be your friend,
Among you who delights to dwell,
Who knows you and who loves you well.
But God in Holy Writ will teach
More precious lore than I can preach.
Whate'er the task which you pursue,
Success to Him alone is due.
That God Who careth for the poor,—
Their wage who work for Him is sure.
| Counsel for cottagers and a looking-glass for landlords | |