The Septennial Stages Of Life Poem by William Hutton

1723

In seventeen hundred twenty-three
I saw the world--the world saw me.
She frown'd, as having drawn no prize;
Nor was she view'd with cheerful eyes.
Both of us rather look'd askew,
Just as two surly people do.
My mother saw, but not with joy--
'She fear'd she could not love that boy.'
The world has since giv'n many a frown;
Like foot-ball kick'd me up and down.
This truth, however, I can say,
My rattle I ne'er threw away;
Because Dame Fortune prov'd my foe,
And never gave me one to throw.

1730

At one time seven, excessive poor,
Must fall to labour--play was o'er.
'Twas then the bitter cup I drank;
My covering rags; my bowels lank.
Destin'd the silk-mill to attend;
Beat to a jelly; without a friend.
To peace of mind what could restore me,
When seven years rudeness lay before me.

1737

At twice seven years one slav'ry's done;
But then another is begun.
And what advantage could I reap,
The strap exchanging for the whip?
No prosp'rous state brought up the rear;
'Twas water chang'd to dead small-beer.

Now the first spark of love appears;
Which blaz'd in vain eleven years.

1744

If, at three sevens my state you'd have,
'Twas once an infant, twice a slave;
Not master even of a dish;
Poor as an enemy could wish;
My ear quite fill'd with musick's hum;
My belly empty as a drum;
Though fond of sol, fa, let me note,
I sold my fiddle for a coat;
The willing ear display'd no lack;
Depriv'd herself to please the back;
The back, no carpenter by trade,
To please them both a better made.

1751

At four times seven, with free consent,
I spurn'd the frame, to books I went;
For who'd sleep in a butcher's shed
If he can warm himself in bed?
And, at this period, I confess,
I took a pleasure in gay dress;
Which was exhibited to view
By hiring books, and selling too.
The girls I follow'd with some glee;
A greater number follow'd me.

1758

At five times seven was pleas'd to see
Three prattling infants on my knee;
A loving wife look'd on, was glad;
One of the best man ever had.
What incident could mend my state?
Was happier than the folks call'd great;
Nay, than harmonious birds, which build
In safety near a barley field.

1765

Six times seven years we'll bring to view--
I tried for money; got it too:
Nor ever once did I abhor it;
Pleasure came with it; pleasure for it:
Thus Madam Fortune deign'd to bless
My little efforts with success.
Nay, Fortune seldom will refuse it,
But give a blessing if you chuse it;
Which is not show'ring gold amain,
But an endeavour to attain.
For land I chaffer'd--who'd be poor?
I bought for one, and sold for four.

1772

At seven times seven, my wish to crown,
I bought a house, and pull'd it down.
What of this purchase could remain--
Only to build it up again.
Thus an old moon hid from our view
A few days after brings a new:
The former dress'd in dark decay;
The latter in her bright array.
Two thousands, that I might be seated,
In timber, mortar, lime--and cheated.

1779

Eight times seven years were follow'd close,
With fifteen evils at one dose;
A monst'rous bolus, 'tis confess'd,
Which took a twelvemonth to digest.
Keen memory, with Argus eye,
Lets no material act pass by.
One mighty evil was my lot,
Which can't for one day be forgot--
My dear's last sickness now came on,
And death, when seventeen years were gone.

1786

At nine times seven, to Buxton move,
And try the waters, for my love;
Travers'd, with joy, the wonders round,
But health, alas! we never found:
Attended trade, but spent the pauses
In writing books, and trying causes;
Which last, for my reward, I found
They burnt my houses to the ground.
Strange! fire and plunder they brought on,
But never told,--What fault I'd done!

1793

To ten times seven the thread is spun,
The glass of human life is run;
But things uncommon sometimes pass,
Time splic'd the thread, and turn'd the glass.
Such destin'd favours were my lot,
That tens of thousands have them not:
It tends to make the happy man,
When Prudence shuns what ills she can.

1800

Eleven times seven are now come on,
Yet mourn what rioters have done;
Though happy, in my state, I feel
They left a wound time cannot heal.
Riches are added to my store,
Besides seven years, just gone before
--hundred acres! charming fee!
From debt and mortgage duty-free.
A Poet is but seldom found
To tune his lire on his own ground.
I've brick and mortar in great plenty,
Which pay ONE POUND instead of twenty.
My children I nurs'd on my knee,
Now they attentive are to me.
Time foots it with me, on my way,
For more than thirty miles a day.