Classic Poem

I Think that my Poems may be call'd the “Wet Eye.”
For as I repeat them, my hearers oft cry—
Yet I think some will say, I'd better set down
To Work in great haste, and make me a gown.

A Gown I have wanted indeed, I confess,
But my Mind, or my Body, which most should I dress?
If the Body be dress'd, tho' the Mind it should starve,
Where is the Spectator, that will it observe.

Oh! there is an Eye that does oft view my Heart,
Knows every Corner, examines each part;
He Wounds, and he Heals, and he will beautify
The darkest of Hearts that does on him rely.

He washes and cleanses, and gives a new Heart,
Are not these rich Blessings God's Love does impart;
A Friend said unto me, Religion you mind,
Your Time you must spend, since to Verse you're inclin'd.

What time can be lost, if I Work as I sing,
So oft-times I've heard the poor Plough-Boys in Spring,
To cheer up their Horses, and teach them to go;
Say, are not these Customs? ye Plough-boys do know.

But your Time you must loose when you set down to write;
Nay, Friend, you must know, I sit late up at Night;
That time from my Pillow I'd wish thus to take,
Sit late up at Night, in the Morning soon wake.

I have a good Master, I'd wish him to serve,
He's better unto me than e'er I deserve;
He feeds, and he cloaths, and he visits me so,
He is the best Friend that I ever did know.

He's a royal Master, no less than a King,
He commands me to Work, and has taught me to sing;
To sing to his Praises, is a sweet employ,
I wish all my Readers the like may enjoy.