O! indefatigable labourer In the paths of men! when thou shalt die, ’twill be A mark of thy surpassing industry, That of the monument, which men shall rear Over thy most inestimable bone, Thou didst thy very self lay the first stone!-- Of a right ancient line thou comest,--through Each crook and turn we trace the unbroken clue, Until we see thy sire before our eyes,-- Rolling his gravel walks in Paradise! But he, our great Mac Parent, erred, and ne’er Have our walks since been fair? Yet Time, who, like the merchant, lives on ‘Change, For ever varying, through his varying range, Time maketh all things even! In this strange world, turning beneath high heaven, He hath redeemed the Adams, and contrived,-- (How are time’s wonders hived!) In pity to mankind, and to befriend ’em,-- (Time is above all praise,) That he, who first did make our evil ways, Reborn in Scotland, should be first to mend ’em! A _FRIENDLY_ EPISTLE TO MRS. FRY, _IN_ NEWGATE. “Sermons in stones.”--_As You Like It._ “Out! out! damned spot!”--_Macbeth._ I like you, Mrs. Fry! I like your name! It speaks the very warmth you feel in pressing In daily act round Charity’s great flame-- I like the crisp brown way you have of dressing, Good Mrs. Fry! I like the placid claim You make to Christianity,--professing Love, and good _works_--of course you buy of Barton, Beside the young _fry’s_ bookseller, Friend Darton! I like, good Mrs. Fry, your brethren mute-- Those serious, solemn gentlemen that sport-- I should have said, that _wear_, the sober suit Shaped like a court dress--but for heaven’s court. I like your sisters too,--sweet Rachel’s fruit-- Protestant nuns! I like their stiff support Of virtue--and I like to see them clad With such a difference--just like good from bad! I like the sober colours--not the wet; Those gaudy manufactures of the rainbow-- Green, orange, crimson, purple, violet-- In which the fair, the flirting, and the vain, go-- The others are a chaste, severer set, In which the good, the pious, and the plain, go-- They’re moral _standards_, to know Christians by-- In short, they are your _colours_, Mrs. Fry! As for the naughty tinges of the prism-- Crimson’s the cruel uniform of war-- Blue--hue of brimstone! minds no catechism; And green is young and gay--not noted for Goodness, or gravity, or quietism, Till it is saddened down to tea-green, or Olive--and purple’s given to wine, I guess; And yellow is a convict by its dress!