The Plague that comes among you, Miserable sinners! To effort hath it strung you? Miserable sinners! You ask that all should fast and pray; Better all wake and work, I say; Sloth and supineness put away, That so the Plague may cease to slay; Miserable sinners! For Plagues, like other evils, Miserable sinners! Are GOD'S and not the Devil's, Miserable sinners! Scourges they are, but in a hand Which love and pity do command: And when the heaviest stripes do fall, 'Tis where they're wanted most of all, Miserable sinners! Look round about your city, Miserable sinners! Arouse to shame and pity, Miserable sinners! Pray: but use brush and limewash pail; Fast: but feed those for want who fail; Bow down, gude town, to ask for grace But bow with cleaner hands and face, Miserable sinners! All Time GOD'S Law hath spoken, Miserable sinners! That Law may not be broken, Miserable sinners! But he that breaks it must endure The penalty which works the cure. To us, for GOD'S great laws transgressed, Is doomsman Pestilence addressed, Miserable sinners! We can not juggle Heaven, Miserable sinners! With one day out of seven, Miserable sinners! Shall any force of fasts atone For years of duty left undone? How expiate with prayer or psalm, Deaf ear, blind eye, and folded palm? Miserable sinners! Let us be up and stirring, Miserable sinners! 'Mong ignorant and erring, Miserable sinners! Sloth and self-seeking from us cast, Believing this the fittest fast, For of all prayers prayed 'neath the sun There is no prayer like work well done, Miserable sinners! PAPA TO HIS HEIR, A FAST MINOR. PUNCH. My son, a father's warning heed; I think my end is nigh: And then, you dog, you will succeed Unto my property. But, seeing you are not, just yet. Arrived at man's estate, Before you full possession get, You'll have a while to wait. A large allowance I allot You during that delay; And I don't recommend you not To throw it all away. To such advice you'd ne'er attend; You won't let prudence rule Your courses; but, I know, will spend Your money like a fool. I do not ask you to eschew The paths of vice and sin; You'll do as all young boobies, who Are left, as you say, tin. You'll sot, you'll bet; and, being green, At all that's right you'll joke; Your life will be a constant scene Of billiards and of smoke. With bad companions you'll consort With creatures vile and base, Who'll rob you; yours will be, in short, The puppy's common case. But oh, my son! although you must Through this ordeal pass, You will not be, I hope--I trust-- A wholly senseless ass. Of course at prudence you will sneer, On that theme I won't harp; Be good, I won't say--that's severe; But be a little sharp. All rascally associates shun To bid you were too much, But, oh I beware, my spooney son, Beware one kind of such.