The stone and cruel gout upon him seize;
To quell their rage some fam'd physicians come
Who scarce less cruel, crowd the sick man's room;
On him they operate--these learned folk,
Make him saw rocks, and cleave the solid oak;[8]
And gladly would the man his fate resign
For such an humble, happy state as thine.
Be thankful, Anthony, and think with me,
The poor hardworking man may happier be
If blest with strength, activity, and health,
Than those who roll in luxury and wealth.

Two truths important, I proceed to tell,
One is a truth, you surely know full well;
That labour is essential here below
To man--a source of weal instead of woe:
The other truth, few words suffice to prove,
No blame attaches to the life I love.
So still attend--but I must say no more,
I plainly see, you wish my sermon o'er;
You gape, you close your eyes, you drop your chin,
Again methinks I'd better not begin.
Besides, these melons seem to wish to know
The reason why they are neglected so;
And ask if yonder village holds its feast
And thou awhile art there detained a guest,
While all the flowery tribes make sad complaint.
For want of water they are grown quite faint.

_Tipton._ T.S.A.