Classic Poem

We sometimes ride, and sometimes walk;
We play at chess, or laugh, or talk;
Sometimes, beside the chrystal stream,
We meditate some serious theme;
Or in the grot, beside the spring,
We hear the feathered warblers sing.
Shakespeare (perhaps) an hour diverts,
Or Scott directs to mend our hearts.
With Clarke God's attributes we explore;
And, taught by him, admire them more.
Gay's Pastorals sometimes delight us,
Or Tasso's grisly spectres fright us:
Sometimes we trace Armida's bowers,
And view Rinaldo chained with flowers.
Often, from thoughts sublime as these,
I sink at once—and make a cheese;
Or see my various poultry fed,
And treat my swans with scraps of bread.
Sometimes upon the smooth canal
We row the boat or spread the sail;
Till the bright evening-star is seen,
And dewy spangles deck the green.
Then tolls the bell, and all unite
In prayer that God would bless the night.
From this (though I confess the change
From prayer to cards is somewhat strange)
To cards we go, till ten has struck:
And then, however bad our luck,
Our stomachs ne'er refuse to eat
Eggs, cream, fresh butter, or calves'-feet;
And cooling fruits, or savoury greens—
'Sparagus, peas, or kidney-beans.
Our supper past, an hour we sit,
And talk of history, Spain, or wit:
But Scandal far is banished hence,
Nor dares intrude with false pretence
Of pitying looks, or holy rage
Against the vices of the age:
We know we all were born in sin,
And find enough to blame within.