William Hutton

An helpless animal, distress'd,
Excites compassion in the breast.

Poor Robin to the garden steer'd;
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A period pass'd over I'll bring back to view,
When the sons of the hammer were wont to tell true;
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In joyous strain the verse should move,
Which celebrates the thing we love.

Come, my pale friend, put on a smile,
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A husband and wife, when they're both of one mind,
We deem them most happy--read on, and you'll find.

In all concerns a man shall share
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I wish'd, when young, I had but clear
That lovely sum ten pounds a year.
For work or play, I must confess,
Produc'd a sum a little less;
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The Muse, as property is gone,
She should, by right, put mourning on.
The simple smile shall fly the place;
My tale comes with a serious face.
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The lowest class of men may be
Rais'd to state of high degree,
Their blackness gone, such brightness shone,
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In Nottingham there dwells a lass,
Of three-score-years-and-ten,
With whom I jocund hours did pass;
The loves were with us then.
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A promising Lover sent word from Bridgnorth,
He'd see me the fifth of November;
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When you proceed down Sych-nant's track,
The wind will try to force you back;
As if asham'd to let you view
A barren sea and mountain too.
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Attack the Sovereign's ear;
Delight her;
Reward shall be, ne'er fear,
A mitre.
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The place t'ordain him is an hotel;
The proper season--o'er a bottle.
But, ah! what mischief oft commences,
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Perhaps my verse you'll nothing call,
Because, it seems, my title's small.
To ministers I recommend
That they should ne'er their clerks offend.
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Whatever shall rise in a subject debated,
Deliver yourself in a stile elevated.
A Priest lost himself, by my tale it appears;
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Lately was Parson Horseley seen;
Soberly walking to Hall Green,
Reluctantly his church to reach,
Where, once a week, was forc'd to preach.
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So much one day is like another,
It might be taken for its brother.
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Bess was, for being a double bride,
And Molly for manslaughter, tri'd;
They both were, by my Lord's command,
Sentenc'd to burning in the hand;
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Take a fat rect'ry--there's one near,
Which brings seven hundred pounds a year;
With such a prize the patron's glad;
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Of all the gay fashions the Ladies pursue,
We hold that the worst which keeps beauty from view ...
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If you're a father, who retains
A larger store of wealth than brains;
A jewel hold which you prize most,
Are anxious lest it should be lost,
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