There are too many of all trades, Too many bakers, Too many every-thing-makers, But not too many undertakers,-- Too many boys,-- Too many hobby-de-hoys,-- Too many girls, men, widows, wives and maids,-- There is a dreadful surplus to demolish, And yet some Wrongheads, With thick not long heads, Poor Metaphysicians! Sign petitions Capital punishment to abolish; And in the face of censuses such vast ones New hospitals contrive, For keeping life alive, Laying first stones, the dolts! instead of last ones! Others, again, in the same contrariety, Deem that of all Humane Society They really deserve thanks, Because the two banks of the Serpentine, By their design, Are Saving Banks. Oh! were it given but to me to weed The human breed, And root out here and there some cumbering elf, I think I could go through it, And really do it With profit to the world and to myself,-- For instance, the unkind among the Editors, My debtors, those I mean to say Who cannot or who will not pay And all my creditors. These, for my own sake, I’d destroy; But for the world’s, and every one’s, I’d hoe up Mrs. G--’s two sons, And Mrs. B--’s big little boy, Call’d only by herself an “only joy.” As Mr. Irving’s chapel’s not too full, Himself alone I’d pull-- But for the peace of years that have to run, I’d make the Lord Mayor’s a perpetual station, And put a period to rotation, By rooting up all Aldermen but one,-- These are but hints what good might thus be done! But ah! I fear the public good Is little by the public understood,-- For instance--if with flint, and steel, and tinder, Great Swing, for once a philanthropic man Proposed to throw a light upon thy plan, No doubt some busy fool would hinder His burning all the Foundling to a cinder.