Sir , is it right that Man in Health
Should by Men carry'd be?
But this a fight in London is
Quite common for to see.

Does Gold so cramp your Feet, I pray,
You have no pow'r to go?
Or, is it Pride that blinds your Eyes,
Your Path you do not know?

Oh! exercise is good for Health,
If you advice will take;
Arise, Sir, feel your Feet and walk,
Of Men ne'er Horses make.

But who are these that Man, (tho' God,)
Does in his Bosom bear;
They are the weaklings of his Flock,
His Lambs he carries there.

And so it is they nourish'd are,
When they have strength to go;
He sweetly bids them follow him,
His Voice they well do know.

And thus 'tis boldly they march on,
And in his strength rejoice;
So when he sees them weak or faint,
He chears them with his Voice.

No, never did fine Music e'er
So much the Ear delight;
Not all the Objects here on Earth
Ever so charm'd the sight.

He never does his People leave,
But all their Wants does bear;
Upon his Heart and Hands we read,
Each Name's engraven there.

My Lady too is delicate,
And so must carried be;
Her Footmen walk before with Lights,
How grand a fight to see!

If thus she unto Church does go,
Upon the Sabbath Eve;
And prays that all her Servants there
A blessing may receive.

But if she unto Routs will go,
Her Grandeur to display;
There must the Servants too attend,
And break the Sabbath Day.

To God she must a reck'ning make
For all her Servants there;
Oh! read God's just command's, I pray
And tremble then, and fear.

Oh! may that Lady fear, tho' grand,
Think that she's made of Clay; —
And when pale Death shall call for her,
Those Honors fly away!

No Honor then, if she's not found
In the Redeemer dear;
For no distinction e'er is made
'Twixt King, and Beggar there.

All must be sav'd in Christ alone,
That ever Pardon have;
And thus for King and Beggar he
His Life a Ransom gave.