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Air---"Fine Old English Gentleman."
Oh, that a man into his mouth should put a deadly
foe,
To steal away his health and wealth, and work
disease and woe;
To drown his reason, love and worth, and desolate
his home,
And leave his family in want, unheeded and
alone;
Like a poor lost slave of appetite, a whisky-sucking
drone.
Then cast a way the maddening draught, which thou
can'st not control;
So that thou may'st not perish by the desolating
bowl,
But live a useful, honest life, sustain thy
moral health:
Be sure thy own, not other's toil, supplies
thy store of wealth:
Like a thorough Son of Temperance who scorns
to drink by stealth.
But whilst thou fightest the effect, strive
to remove the cause,
That made thee sacrifice thy health, and violate
its laws;
Say, was it not exhausting toil of body or
of brain,
Or indolence, that made thee drink to rouse
thy sinking frame:
Caused by the robbers of the land, who riot
in thy shame?
Then let the land and man be free, so that excessive
toil
The workers need no longer do, for drones to
reap the spoil;
That all by honest industry may earn their
daily bread,
So they may know that they have been by their
own labour fed;
And thus a temperate, honest life, by everyone
be led.
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