The Retired Tradesman.
"An owre true tale."—Burns.
Mr Mortimer Maxwell had given up trade,
For this excellent reason: his fortune was made;
He hath freehold and leasehold, and copyhold too,
So Maxwell bethinks him of what he shall do;
He no longer will stay,
But at once cut away
From the vile smoky town,
To a "Cottage Orneé."
Now Mortimer Maxwell hath found a retreat,
A not over large one, but monstrous neat;
It hath little green shutters, a little green door;
But I'm telling too much, I shall mention no more.
A paper was stuck up,
On which it was told
The Cottage would either
"Be Let," or "Be Sold."
He has taken and furnished the "Crib" very nice;
He went for the nobby, he heeded not price;
His chairs, and his tables, and carpets, were new,
His "plate" second hand, but that's nothing to you;
While the doings o'er head,
From the best damask bed
To the meanest utensil,
Were good, people said.
