WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED
He wrote, too, in a quiet way,
Small treatises, and smaller verses, And sage remarks on chalk and clay,
And hints to noble Lords and nurses; True histories of last year's ghost,
Lines to a ringlet, or a turban, And trifles for the Mormng Post,
And nothings for Sylvanus Urban.
He did not think all mischief fair,
Although he had a knack of joking; He did not make himself a bear,
Although he had a taste for smoking; And when religious sects ran mad,
He held, in spite of all hit> learning, That if a man's belief is bad,
It will not be improved by burning.
And he was kind, and loved to sit
In the low hut or garnish'd cottage, And praise the farmer's homely wit,
And share the widow's homelier pottage At his approach complaint grew mild,
And when his hand unbarr'd the shutter, The clammy lips of fever smiled
The welcome which they could not utter.
He always had a tale for me
Of Julius Caesar, or of Venus; From him I learnt the rule of three,
Cat's cradle, leap-frog, and Quae genus: 79<>
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