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Read Ebook: Characters from Life; Or Moral Hints. In Verse by Parkerson James
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Ebook has 77 lines and 12098 words, and 2 pages
CHARACTERS FROM LIFE;
OR,
MORAL HINTS.
Viz.
Admonitions to the Dissipated An address to a Man of the World On Viewing the Cattle Market Serious Reflections Lion and Orange Grove An address to Calista. The Convict's Farewell
BY J. PARKERSON, JUN.
WALKER, PRINTER, NEAR THE DUKE'S PALACE.
ADMONITIONS TO THE DISSIPATED.
ON VIEWING THE CATTLE MARKET ON THE CASTLE HILL.
The wealthy farmer with a rosy hue, Weekly attends the hardy scot to view; The pretty homebred soon his eye detain, Views and admires, then chat in lively strain; Of natures produce till his business call Him from such pleasing sights to pace the hall; Soon as he sees his merchant at his stand, He shows the produce of his fertile land; I'll give you such a price the merchant say, A higher bidder you'll not find this day. But ere the farmer quits the hill he view, All other stock to find out something new; A thought then strikes him as the season's fine, I'll buy a few score sheep before I dine; Into the pens he hies, the bargain struck, The jobber takes his cash, wish him good luck. Prehaps his steed don't travel to his mind, Looks at the nags, and do a good one find; The price he thinks too high, but not refrain, Making another bid the horse to gain; The dealer tempted by the offer say, Sir I'll comply don't hurry so away; Lets take a glass of wine to wish success To your new purchase--hard the farmer press, The nag is taken from the stand with glee; Another takes his place with broken knee, The buyer says what have you standing here? A damaged one a tumbling one I fear; Sir cries the dealer as your land is light, Take him for plough he's pretty to the sight; No it can't be, you must be in a joke, Sure I can't see, or else his knees are broke; But Sir the price I ask will claim a bid, I have so many that I want to rid; Ten guineas for him Sir to you I'll take, A useful one to you I'm sure he'll make: The farmer cries before I quit the ground, I'll make an offer which is Sir ten pound; It is accepted--and away goes nag, The wealthy farmer draws the canvas bag. Now to the tavern blithsome they repair, Take wine and wish that liquor wan't so dear; Looks at his watch, then loud the buyer cry, Its half past one, I to the hall must hie! Sell as much corn as shall be in my power, I'm much afraid the markets will be lower. I've sold he cried my wheat and barley well, I wish I could my oats and horse beans sell; Straight to his merchant 'gain the farmer hop, Fearful next market day all things will drop; The cautious merchant on his skill rely, And thinks Mark-Lane will have a small supply; Contrary winds will keep the vessels back, And in his purchase he will not be slack. Only one thought now harass much his brain, He fears to Banker's shop to go again; Least he should meet rebuke and irksome scorn, On casting up he found he'd overdrawn A running mortgage please the banker's mind, Gains it and to the merchant is more kind; But disappointment all his efforts blast, A large supply is usher'd in at last; Mark-Lane is full and markets now decline, A large supply and weather very fine; The malsters leaving off they'll wet no more, And only clear what is upon the floor; Merchants there are now dwelling in this place, That often routs their handsome houses grace; Gigs very fine a livery servant too, Is always kept to hide what's known by few; That his expences far exceeds his gain, And that the banker mortgages retain; On each estate the gaudy thing has bought, And that in real wealth not worth a groat. Still he goes on till on a sudden stray, Away awhile and cant the farmer pay; Flies to his factor in the time of need, For an advance but do not there succeed. Some characters like those I do know well, They can't last long they cut so great a swell; Oft do we see a very handsome coach, A merchant sport, and meriting reproach; Because full well he knows his books must show, His ranting on has brought him very low; When that's the case too often others find, A gig or coach is kept the eye to blind; To every honest man I wish success, And may misfortune never on them press.
Three Jackalls were a prawling sent It is supposed with ill intent, At least to make a prey: On any thing they saw was good; So dashing furious in a wood, They seiz'd without delay,
So to it furiously they went, He'll make the Lion soon repent, For seizing others store. He crav'd for mercy night and day; The Owner of the fruit won't stay! But will him sadly gore.
Sharp pains ran down his aching side, The Lion on his knees loud cried, I will do so no more. The orange man declar'd with glee, Your minion sha'nt have liberty To enter here no more.
Ne'er shall you have the power to take My fruit away for hunger sake, But I will have a change; My tale of woe none can deny, You know your master dwells on high, He soon will stop your range.
He wears a fur more grand to view, And is more merciful than you, Your arrogance he'll stop; He'll quickly with a little chain, Your nightly prowlings soon restrain; And your ambition lop.
He was allowed no more to stray, With hungry Jackalls night or day; Where Orange trees are seen. It serv'd him right to stop his power, Or he would each succeeding hour, Pluck Oranges too green.
Besides there is a law that's known, We should take nothing but our own, From either beast or man. Tho' power is given to us here, We should the little lambs revere, And serve them if we can.
The low bred minions seek to bind, The smaller ones of gentler kind, But in this happy Isle; A savage beast is laid aside, For every Reptile to deride, Or hourly to revile.
THE CONVICT'S FAREWELL.
SERIOUS REFLECTIONS.
My life is embittered with cares, The reason to me is quite plain; I have caused many sighs and sad tears, To her I shall ne'er see again.
She is fled from my presence above, I shortened her days in this life; To share true angelical love, She is free'd from all pain care and stife.
How could I the dictates disdain, Of a parent so kind and so just; Or give her sweet bosom such pain, She is happy, I hope and I trust.
That God who is setting on high, Have planted remorse in my heart; Its pangs I shall feel till I die, May I then from my troubles depart.
Repent oft she cried ere too late, To her precepts I did not attend; My consience pronounce me ingrate, To disdain such advice from a friend.
Such a friend I shall ne'er more attain. To me she was always sincere; I hope I shall meet her again. When I'm summoned on high to appear
May repentance atone for the past, And cleanse me from every stain; May the tears of sincerity last, That my parent I do meet again.
Sometimes I revisit the spot, Where my parent was used for to dwell; I sigh when I enter the cot, Where I bade the lov'd object farewell,
Ere death had releaved her from pain, I pray'd that her son she'd forgive; She implor'd me from vice to abstain, And in future more pious to live.
Scarce had I her blessing received, And had faintly sigh'd out an adieu; When I found her from troubles reliev'd, While mine where arising anew.
Emotion of grief tears my heart, More painful then e'er felt before; When compell'd from her tomb to depart, Her loss I shall daily deplore.
Calista, tho' you waft a smile, And blithsome still appear; It does not censure ought beguile, Or stop the stifled tear.
Its levity your conduct sway, And tarnish much your name; Too much her dictates you obey, The prudent must you blame.
A married woman never can, Meet in a secret place; An artful gay and single man, And not incur disgrace.
Censure you long have borne it's true, At that you can't complain; That fiend will harass you anew, If you transgress again.
Ne'er listen to each tale of love, The Siren fain would tell; Chaste to your husband ever prove, Lothario bid farewell.
Tho' guilt is vanished from the eye, Of mortals here below; A God above can all descry, Our secret thoughts he know.
Sometimes the guilty are set free, And wears no more the chains; Yet tho' he gains his liberty, The stain on him remains.
Tho' rich the female that portray, A wanton's smile to view; Or cast her husband's love away, Bid chastity adieu.
It is the duty of a wife, Whene'er the ring she gain; To lead a virtuous steady life, From wanton acts refrain.
Calista oft you did retire, To an appointed place; To hold a converse with the squire, It brought on you disgrace.
A Dierge to THE MEMORY OF PRINCESS CHARLOTTE.
He requested to know the fate of the battle, If t'was likely that England would conquor that day; When they answer'd him Sir, by the weight of our metal, More colours are struck and the reat in dismay.
Now Britons again feel a painful sensation, For the loss of a Princess, beloved by us all; There ne'er was a Lady fill'd better her station; Yet Grim Death with his mandate alike strikes the ball.
Neither Princes, or Kings, can induce him to tarry, Away from the object he's order'd to strike; To the aged, or young, to the giddy, or merry. He darts out his arrows and wounds them alike.
Scarce had Providence made our lov'd Princess a mother, When God thought it fit to call her above, To taste of those joys rolling time cannot smother, And share of those blessings that flows from his love,
To protect and to cherish the aged and helpless, Her purse would be drawn, and its comforts expend; When any misfortune were known for to hard press, She'd find out the object and would them befriend.
Well may Brittons mourn, for tho' in high station, To enliven fair Commerce was always her care, Her loss will be felt a long time by the Nation; And sincere is the tear that is shed o'er her Bier.
Her donations were such as noted the sorrow, She felt for the poor that were heard in distress; And used for to say, I'll assist them to morrow, And try all my aid many cares to make less.
To England she's left an example for others, Which I hope will be copied till time is no more; May all foreign nations, regard us as brothers, And a free commerce gladden old Albion's Shore.
My pen can not describe or tears convey, The pains I felt when late I bade farewell; I view'd in death's embrace a parent lay, And heard the passing of the mournful bell.
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