"But still, sir, fashions are of use (Though I too smile at their abuse), For shops are oft so overstocked That trade would on the head be knocked, If Fancy did not often range And force his slaves their dress to change. Some forms are also needful too, In daily life; and strange, yet true, You'll ever find when Form has flown That Order soon will get o'erthrown, And then how often rows arise In thus disordered families. The ladies, as 'tis merely form To decorate at early morn, Forget their tresses to unfurl And paper-prisoned leave each curl. In dressing-gown and sunk-heel'd shoe, The master saunters into view Long after breakfast has begun, Whence stragglers leave as soon as done. The infants, too, in disarray, Tease till allowed to have their way, As parents do not like, they say, Formality in babes; while they, Who will not nat'rally obey, Think now, since taxes are so few, The duty's off their parents too. But open house and open heart, Which would to all who need impart Unbounded hospitality, Has ever been the poet's song, And shall continue so, as long As they retain vitality." "And gladly I your offer take To dine, and hope your tale to make Subject of immortality. Then as in search of health I came, Your skill the wand'rer shall reclaim If he's in this locality."
A beggar here accosted him And begged to drink his health. I smiled to hear this Irish whim, And pictured to myself The tattered man, and host so trim, As Poverty and Wealth. But though he could not say him nay, The honour did decline,-- "The wretch has drunk _his health_ away, And now he would drink _mine_."
Methought a brighter smile bedecked The maiden's cheek when back I came; She certainly did not expect That he would bring me there again. But sometimes we ourselves deceive, As what we wish we oft believe.
The dinner and the lady flown, We chatted o'er the wine. But though his glass he left alone, He would replenish mine. At length he told his history, And thus cleared up the mystery, Which clothed him like a spell. 'Twas sad and touching though to hear The anguish past of many a year, Yet pleased his grief to tell He seemed, for cheerfully he spoke, Though oft a deep-drawn sigh forth broke From Sorrow's care-worn well.