Though ills of various kinds compose
The farmer's long, long list of woes,
Thou soon wilt find the labouring race,
Should occupy no second place:
Their time and toil though dearly bought,
One half at least are good for nought.
(In this, our land of milk and honey,
Where earth is plentier far than money,
The careful and industrious poor
An independence soon secure.)
Item-'t is spring-the orchards bloom,
And every zephyr breathes perfume;
"T is time the Indian corn was planted,
For this, some extra help is wanted;
Away to this, and t' other neighbour,
To find a man, to do this labour:
And when the work of hiring 's done,
He 'll play three hours, and labour one.
Once, on a time, a farming brother,
Returning from some jaunt or other,
His train domestic thus addressed,
To know how business had progressed:
"Well Richard-I've been some time out,
What work have you, pray, been about?"
"Helping Tom, sir.”
""T is well, Dick, thou hast acted right,
United hands make labour light.
Thomas, I see the corn wants hoeing,
Pray what have Dick and you been doing?” "Nothing, sir."
The grass is cut-is turned-is dry-
Dark clouds proclaim that rain is nigh ;
But lo! the wheel has lost a spoke,
The gears are rotten, shelvings broke ;
Ere all these things can be amended,
The time is past, the shower's descended.
Thy neighbour's herd of hungry swine-
As lean as Pharaoh's famished kine-
Assail thy fence, let down a bar,
And with thy wheat wage cruel war;
With snout insatiate tear the ground,
And spread wide devastation round!
When the first sprouting grass is seen
To tinge the riv'let's side with green,
Thy men permit the cows to wander
From mead to mead, up here, down yonder;
Ruin the lots through which they stray,
And lose their appetite for hay,
Till each dry bone-betraying hide
Seems Poverty personified;
Their legs refuse to bear their weight,
And crows receive them, soon or late.
Through some unlucky youngster's fault,
The pigs have broth too hot, and salt;
Hence measled shoulders, scalded throats,
And varied ills that pester shoats;
Dogs find thy sheep delicious picking,
A mink each night purloins a chicken,
Rats share the corn, and mice devour the bacon,
The turkeys, geese, and ducks, by two legg'd rogues are taken.
And will thy stomach, friend, be quiet
On farmer's plain substantial diet;
Thy appetite look pleased and clever
At salt and dried, recurring ever?
(For ah! expect not here to meet
The varied fare of Market street.)
And canst thou, too, thy hunger stay
With broken meat on washing-day?
If not-tell John to kill the calf,
And send some brother-farmer half:
And when he slaughters veal or sheep,
In turn take what he cannot keep:
Get, for thy well-fed, famished veal,
On which a hawk might make a meal;
And for thy tender, juicy mutton,
Such as is fit no dish to put on.
Thus, anxious friend, for thy repose,
I've warned thee of some coming woes,
That during winter's blustering weather,
While fenced from tempest-calm-secure-
Thou might'st a stock of patience gather
For the next year's expenditure.
As some pert scribbler, doubtless vain of knowing
Somewhat of digging, ploughing, harrowing, hoeing,
Has deemed it proper in this way t' impart
His wond'rous knowledge in the farming art ;
I, too, would humbly offer to thy view
Of good advice a homely scrap or two ;
Let then the following precepts, short and plain,
Though clad in rustic garb, attention gain.
No useful plant admires encroaching weeds,
No healthy chick from egg unsound proceeds;
From milk or cream, with garlic tinctured strong,
Sweet butter comes not, without churning long;
If meddling witches should thy churn infest,
To drive them from it, what device is best,
Fain would I tell, but fear to tell amiss,
For e'en the knowing disagree in this-
To luckier hours the business some adjourn,
And some put-sly—a dollar in the churn.
When night extends her sable curtains round,
Constructing cheeses be thy maidens found,
At morn's first blushes let the work be stayed,
For cheese should always in the dark be made;
So flies no knowledge of th' affair will gain,
But the fair fabric firm for years remain.
On no pretence permit or corn or hay
To take the gardener from his charge away—
Foul weeds will mark his absence with delight,
Spread their long columns with resistless might,
In countless throngs obnoxious fill the place,
And crush the eatable and floral race.
By long experience, rotten eggs are found
Near twice as long in hatching as the sound;
Hence those to whom the worth of time is known,
Let their hens hover o'er the good alone:
To know their state, the wise have various ways—
Some, patient, hold them to the solar blaze;
Some, east and west attentive list’ning shake 'em,
And some, more cautious, think it best to break 'em.
When infant ducklings first delighted stray
To the loved stream, and cleave the liquid way,
Observe their wanderings with a watchful eye,
For varied dangers there in ambush lie;
The tortoise finds them most delicious food,
And pikes, voracious, soon will thin the brood;
And oft, when homeward bends the waddling train,
To spread their plumage to the sun again,
Prone on their backs they fall, and there must lie,
To sleep for ever, if no help is nigh.
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