We make no insolent pretensions To feast on sinecures and pensions; We know our food must be the getting Of our own labour, pains and sweating; 'Twas so, they say, in ages past, And must be so while time shall last. But Sir, tho' this is fit and meet, We cannot quite forget to eat, Nor miss our usual grains and water, Without just asking, What's the matter? You told us, and we hoped it true, With folks above we'd nought to do. We've not to do, 'tis mighty plain, With any thing our betters gain; But when they meet with checks and crosses, We find a partnership of losses, And must be scoched in work and wages, Because crusading all the rage is.
Now this we think not quite the thing, So please to hint it to the —.
