"To save his credit, you must know That poor old Slug eats very slow; And as in justice he does hate That all the rest on him should wait, Sometimes he has to rise and kneel Before he has made out his meal. Then to make up what he has miss'd, He takes a luncheon in his fist, Or turns again unto the dish, And fully satisfies his wish; Or, if it will not answer then, He'll make it up at half-past ten. "Again he thinks it quite too soon To eat his dinner all at noon, But as the feast is always free, He takes a snack at half-past three. He goes to supper with the rest, But, lest his stomach be oppress'd, He saves at least a piece of bread Till just before he goes to bed; So last of all the wretched Slug Has room to drive another plug. "To fam'ly order he's not bound, But has his springs of union round; And kitchen sisters ev'ry where Know how to please him to a hair: Sometimes his errand they can guess, If not, he can his wants express; Nor from old Slug can they get free Without a cake or dish of tea." "Slug" at work, or pretending to work, gets a fling also: "When call'd to work you'll always find The lazy fellow lags behind-- He has to smoke or end his chat, Or tie his shoes, or hunt his hat: So all the rest are busy found Before old Slug gets on the ground; Then he must stand and take his wind Before he's ready to begin, And ev'ry time he straights his back He's sure to have some useless clack; And tho' all others hate the Slug, With folded arms himself he'll hug. "When he conceits meal-time is near, He listens oft the trump to hear; And when it sounds, it is his rule The first of all to drop his tool; And if he's brisk in any case, It will be in his homeward pace." Here, too, is a picture of "Slug" shirking his religious duties: "In his devotions he is known To be the same poor lazy drone: The sweetest songs Believers find Make no impression on his mind; And round the fire he'd rather nod Than labor in the works of God. "Some vain excuse he'll often plead That he from worship may be freed-- He's bruis'd his heel or stump'd his toe, And cannot into meeting go; And if he comes he's half asleep, That no good fruit from him we reap: He'll labor out a song or two, And so conclude that that will do; [And, lest through weariness he fall, He'll brace himself against the wall], And well the faithful may give thanks That poor old Slug has quit the ranks. "When the spectators are address'd, Then is the time for Slug to rest-- From his high lot he can't be hurl'd, To feel toward the wicked world; So he will sit with closed eyes Until the congregation rise; And when the labor we commence, He moves with such a stupid sense-- It often makes spectators stare To see so dead a creature there." The satire closes with a hit at "Slug's" devotion to tobacco: