And honesty fills all their hearts,
There shews ’em, like th’ instructive tree,
Those crimes which they’re ashamed to see,
Which now in silence they confess
By blushing at their ugliness;
Like children that would hide their faults
And by their colour own their thoughts,
Imagining when they’re looked upon,
That others see what they have done. 
But, O ye Gods! what consternation! 
How vast and sudden was th’ alternation! 
In half an hour, the nation round,
Meat fell a penny in the pound.

* * * * *

Now mind the glorious hive, and see
How honesty and trade agree. 
The show is gone; it thins apace,
And looks with quite another face. 
For ’twas not only that they went
By whom vast sums were yearly spent;
But multitudes that lived on them,
Were daily forced to do the same. 
In vain to other trades they’d fly;
All were o’erstocked accordingly.

* * * * *

As pride and luxury decrease,
So by degrees they leave the seas. 
Not merchants now, but companies,
Remove whole manufactories. 
All arts and crafts neglected lie: 
Content, the bane of industry,
Makes ’em admire their homely store,
And neither seek nor covet more. 
So few in the vast hive remain,
The hundredth part they can’t maintain
Against th’ insults of numerous foes,
Whom yet they valiantly oppose,
Till some well-fenced retreat is found,
And here they die or stand their ground. 
No hireling in their army’s known;
But bravely fighting for their own
Their courage and integrity
At last were crowned with victory. 
They triumphed not without their cost,
For many thousand bees were lost. 
Hardened with toil and exercise,
They counted ease itself a vice;
Which so improved their temperance
That, to avoid extravagance,
They flew into a hollow tree,
Blessed with content and honesty.

  THE MORAL: 

  Then leave complaints:  fools only strive
  To make a great an honest hive. 
  T’ enjoy the world’s conveniences,
  Be famed in war, yet live in ease,
  Without great vices, is a vain
  Utopia seated in the brain.

* * * * *

ISAAC WATTS

  THE HAZARD OF LOVING THE CREATURES

  Where’er my flattering passions rove,
  I find a lurking snare;
  ’Tis dangerous to let loose our love
  Beneath th’ eternal fair.

  Souls whom the tie of friendship binds,
  And things that share our blood,
  Seize a large portion of our minds,
  And leave the less for God.

  Nature has soft but powerful bands,
  And reason she controls;
  While children with their little hands
  Hang closest to our souls.