The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb
Chapter 171 : Her handmaids they are not a few: Sincerity that's ever true, And Prompt Obedienc

Her handmaids they are not a few: Sincerity that's ever true, And Prompt Obedience always new,

Urbanity that ever smiles, And Frankness that ne'er useth wiles, And Friendliness that ne'er beguiles,

And Firmness that is always ready To make young good-resolves more steady, The only safeguard of the giddy;

And blus.h.i.+ng Modesty, and sweet Humility in fas.h.i.+on neat; Yet still her train is incomplete,

Unless meek Piety attend Good Temper as her surest friend, Abiding with her to the end.

MODERATION IN DIET

The drunkard's sin, excess in wine, Which reason drowns, and health destroys, As yet no failing is of thine, Dear Jim; strong drink's not given to boys.

You from the cool fresh steam allay Those thirsts which sultry suns excite; When choak'd with dust, or hot with play, A cup of water yields delight.

And reverence still that temperate cup, And cherish long the blameless taste; To learn the faults of men grown up, Dear Jim, be wise and do not haste.

They'll come too soon.--But there's a vice, That shares the world's contempt no less; To be in eating over-nice, Or to court surfeits by excess.

The first, as finical, avoid; The last is proper to a swine: By temperance meat is best enjoy'd; Think of this maxim when you dine.

Prefer with plain food to be fed, Rather than what are dainties styl'd; A sweet tooth in an infant's head Is pardon'd, not in a grown child.

If parent, aunt, or liberal friend, With splendid s.h.i.+lling line your purse, Do not the same on sweetmeats spend, Nor appet.i.te with pampering nurse.

Go buy a book; a dainty eaten Is vanish'd, and no sweets remain; They who their minds with knowledge sweeten, The savour long as life retain.

Purchase some toy, a horse of wood, A pasteboard s.h.i.+p; their structure scan; Their mimic uses understood, The school-boy make a kind of man.

Go see some show; pictures or prints; Or beasts far brought from Indian land; Those foreign sights oft furnish hints, That may the youthful mind expand.

And something of your store impart, To feed the poor and hungry soul; What buys for you the needless tart, May purchase him a needful roll.

INCORRECT SPEAKING

Incorrectness in your speech Carefully avoid, my Anna; Study well the sense of each Sentence, lest in any manner It misrepresent the truth; Veracity's the charm of youth.

You will not, I know, tell lies, If you know what you are speaking.-- Truth is shy, and from us flies; Unless diligently seeking Into every word we pry, Falsehood will her place supply.

Falsehood is not shy, not she,-- Ever ready to take place of Truth, too oft we Falsehood see, Or at least some latent trace of Falsehood, in the incorrect Words of those who Truth respect.

CHARITY

O why your good deeds with such pride do you scan, And why that self-satisfied smile At the s.h.i.+lling you gave to the poor working man, That lifted you over the stile?

'Tis not much; all the bread that can with it be bought Will scarce give a morsel to each Of his eight hungry children;--reflection and thought Should you more humility teach.

Vain glory's a worm which the very best action Will taint, and its soundness eat thro'; But to give one's self airs for a small benefaction, Is folly and vanity too.

The money perhaps by your father or mother Was furnish'd you but with that view; If so, you were only the steward of another, And the praise you usurp is their due.

Perhaps every s.h.i.+lling you give in this way Is paid back with two by your friends; Then the bounty you so ostentatious display, Has little and low selfish ends.

But if every penny you gave were your own, And giving diminish'd your purse; By a child's slender means think how little is done, And how little for it you're the worse.

You eat, and you drink; when you rise in the morn, You are cloth'd; you have health and content; And you never have known, from the day you were born, What hunger or nakedness meant.

The most which your bounty from you can subtract Is an apple, a sweetmeat, a toy; For so easy a virtue, so trifling an act, You are paid with an innocent joy.

Give thy bread to the hungry, the thirsty thy cup; Divide with th' afflicted thy lot: This can only be practis'd by persons grown up, Who've possessions which children have not.

Having two cloaks, give one (said our Lord) to the poor; In such bounty as that lies the trial: But a child that gives half of its infantile store Has small praise, because small self-denial.

MY BIRTH-DAY

A dozen years since in this house what commotion, What bustle, what stir, and what joyful ado; Ev'ry soul in the family at my devotion, When into the world I came twelve years ago.

I've been told by my friends (if they do not belie me) My promise was such as no parent would scorn; The wise and the aged who prophesied by me, Augur'd nothing but good of me when I was born.

But vain are the hopes which are form'd by a parent, Fallacious the marks which in infancy s.h.i.+ne; My frail const.i.tution soon made it apparent, I nourish'd within me the seeds of decline.

On a sick bed I lay, through the flesh my bones started, My grief-wasted frame to a skeleton fell; My physicians foreboding took leave and departed, And they wish'd me dead now, who wished me well.

Life and soul were kept in by a mother's a.s.sistance, Who struggled with faith, and prevail'd 'gainst despair; Like an angel she watch'd o'er the lamp of existence, And never would leave while a glimmer was there.

By her care I'm alive now--but what retribution Can I for a life twice bestow'd thus confer?

Were I to be silent, each year's revolution Proclaims--each new birth-day is owing to her.

The chance-rooted tree that by way-sides is planted, Where no friendly hand will watch o'er its young shoots, Has less blame if in autumn, when produce is wanted, Enrich'd by small culture it put forth small fruits.

But that which with labour in hot-beds is reared, Secur'd by nice art from the dews and the rains, Unsound at the root may with justice be feared, If it pay not with int'rest the tiller's hard pains.

THE BEASTS IN THE TOWER

Within the precincts of this yard, Each in his narrow confines barr'd, Dwells every beast that can be found On Afric or on Indian ground.

How different was the life they led In those wild haunts where they were bred, To this tame servitude and fear, Enslav'd by man, they suffer here!

In that uneasy close recess Couches a sleeping Lioness; The next den holds a Bear; the next A Wolf, by hunger ever vext; There, fiercer from the keeper's lashes, His teeth the fell Hyena gnashes; That creature on whose back abound Black spots upon a yellow ground, A Panther is, the fairest beast That haunteth in the s.p.a.cious East.

He underneath a fair outside Does cruelty and treach'ry hide.

That cat-like beast that to and fro Restless as fire does ever go, As if his courage did resent His limbs in such confinement pent, That should their prey in forests take, And make the Indian jungles quake, A Tiger is. Observe how sleek And glossy smooth his coat: no streak On sattin ever match'd the pride Of that which marks his furry hide.

How strong his muscles! he with ease Upon the tallest man could seize, In his large mouth away could bear him, And into thousand pieces tear him: Yet cabin'd so securely here, The smallest infant need not fear.