Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/548
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"Laugh and Get Fat!"
"Lack we motives to laugh? Are not all things, any thing, every thing, to be laughed at? And if nothing were to be seen, felt, heard, or understood, we would laugh at it too!"—Merry Beggars.
i.
There's nothing here on earth deserves
Half of the thought we waste about it,
And thinking but destroys the nerves,
When we could do so well without it:
If folks would let the world go round,
And pay their tithes, and eat their dinners,
Such doleful looks would not be found,
To frighten us poor laughing sinners.
Never sigh when you can sing,
But laugh, like me, at every thing!
There's nothing here on earth deserves
Half of the thought we waste about it,
And thinking but destroys the nerves,
When we could do so well without it:
If folks would let the world go round,
And pay their tithes, and eat their dinners,
Such doleful looks would not be found,
To frighten us poor laughing sinners.
Never sigh when you can sing,
But laugh, like me, at every thing!
ii.
One plagues himself about the sun,
And puzzles on, through every weather,
What time he'll rise,—how long he'll run,—
And when he'll leave us altogether:
Now matters it a pebble-stone,
Whether he shines at six or seven?
If they don't leave the sun alone,
At last they'll plague him out of heaven!
Never sigh when you can sing,
But laugh, like me, at every thing!
One plagues himself about the sun,
And puzzles on, through every weather,
What time he'll rise,—how long he'll run,—
And when he'll leave us altogether:
Now matters it a pebble-stone,
Whether he shines at six or seven?
If they don't leave the sun alone,
At last they'll plague him out of heaven!
Never sigh when you can sing,
But laugh, like me, at every thing!
iii.
Another spins from out his brains
Fine cobwebs, to amuse his neighbours,
And gets, for all his toils and pains,
Reviewed, and laughed at for his labours:
Fame is his star! and fame is sweet;
And praise is pleasanter than honey,—
I write at just so much a sheet,
And Messrs. Longman pay the money!
Never sigh when you can sing,
But laugh, like me, at every thing!
Another spins from out his brains
Fine cobwebs, to amuse his neighbours,
And gets, for all his toils and pains,
Reviewed, and laughed at for his labours:
Fame is his star! and fame is sweet;
And praise is pleasanter than honey,—
I write at just so much a sheet,
And Messrs. Longman pay the money!
Never sigh when you can sing,
But laugh, like me, at every thing!
iv.
My brother gave his heart away
To Mercandotti, when he met her,
She married Mr. Ball one day—
He's gone to Sweden to forget her!
My brother gave his heart away
To Mercandotti, when he met her,
She married Mr. Ball one day—
He's gone to Sweden to forget her!