The Times

GOOD people all, both great and small,
And eke, and aye, and also;
Pray lend an ear, and you shall hear,
And then I need not bawl so.
There was a Time, when Times were good,
The antient Bard in rhime sings;
So use Time well, 'tis Time we should,
We should so, did we time things.

But out of Time, and out of Tune,
We helter skelter go forth;
Sometimes too late, sometimes too soon,
Good lack-a-day, and so forth.
We give great folks the greatest crimes,
They can afford to father 'em,
But so impartial are the Times,
We're guilty, omnium gatherum.

Fox-hunting, boldly Bucks embrace,
But Sportsmen of discernment,
Abroad will chuse a Nabob's Chace,
Or hunt at home Preferment.
To hunt the Statesman, who's in play,
When Patriots cast-about Sir,
A Pension stops the Hark-away,
And so the Field's flung out Sir.

In such place-tempting Times as these,
Upright be our intentions;
Ill fare the Loon who first took Fees,
And Him who first paid Pensions.
Yet Sine-cures we'll not abuse,
Nor their illustrious Givers,
We quarrel now, 'cause we can't chuse
Who shou'd be the Receivers.

Dear Englishmen and Country-folks,
Don't give yourselves uneas'ness,
Nor mind the flouts, the shouts, the jokes,
But only mind your bus'ness.
Would one mind one, the Kingdom thro',
And work within his station,
At home he'll find enough to do,
And not undo the Nation.

So to conclude, and make an end,
Of this nice-diction'd ditty,
Indeed 'tis Time, the Times shou'd mend,
In Country, Court, and City.
For our good Queen our song we'll sing,—
May she ne'er wake nor sleep ill;
And next, my lads,—God bless the King,
And all his faithful people.