Then over head and ears in brine They’ll souse me, like a salmon, My mathematics turn to brawn, My logic into gammon. My Hebrew will all retrograde, Now I’m put up to fatten; My Greek, it will all go to grease; The Dogs will have my Latin! Farewell to Oxford!--and to Bliss! To Milman, Crowe, and Glossop,-- I now must be content with chats, Instead of learned gossip! Farewell to “Town!” farewell to “Gown!” I’ve quite outgrown the latter,-- Instead of Trencher-cap my head Will soon be in a platter! O why did I at Brazen-Nose Rout up the roots of knowledge? A butcher that can’t read will kill A pig that’s been to college! For sorrow I could stick myself, But conscience is a clasher; A thing that would be rash in man, In me would be a rasher! One thing I ask when I am dead, And past the Stygian ditches-- And that is, let my schoolmaster Have one of my two flitches: ’Twas he who taught my letters so I ne’er mistook or miss’d ’em, Simply by _ringing_ at the nose, According to Bell’s system. MY SON AND HEIR. I. My mother bids me bind my heir, But not the trade where I should bind; To place a boy--the how and where-- It is the plague of parent-kind! II. She does not hint the slightest plan, Nor what indentures to endorse; Whether to bind him to a man,-- Or, like Mazeppa, to a horse. III. What line to choose of likely rise, To something in the Stocks at last,-- “Fast bind, fast find,” the proverb cries, I find I cannot bind so fast! IV. A Statesman James can never be; A Tailor?--there I only learn His chief concern is cloth, and he Is always cutting his concern. V. A Seedsman?--I’d not have him so; A Grocer’s plum might disappoint; A Butcher?--no, not that--although I hear “the times are out of joint!” VI. Too many of all trades there be, Like Pedlars, each has such a pack; A merchant selling coals?--we see The buyer send to cellar back. VII. A Hardware dealer?--that might please, But if his trade’s foundation leans On spikes and nails, he won’t have ease When he retires upon his means. VIII. A Soldier?--there he has not nerves; A Sailor seldom lays up pelf: A Baker?--no, a baker serves His customer before himself. IX. Dresser of hair?--that’s not the sort; A joiner jars with his desire-- A Churchman?--James is very short, And cannot to a church aspire. X. A Lawyer?--that’s a hardish term! A Publisher might give him ease, If he could into Longman’s firm Just plunge at once “in medias Rees.” XI. A shop for pot, and pan, and cup, Such brittle Stock I can’t advise; A Builder running houses up, Their gains are stories--maybe lies! XII.