MY SON AND HEIR.
III.
What line to choose of likely rise,
To something in the Stocks at last,—
“Fast bind, fast find,” the proverb cries,
I find I cannot bind so fast!
IV.
A Statesman James can never be;
A Tailor?—there I only learn
His chief concern is cloth, and he
Is always cutting his concern.
A Seedsman?—I’d not have him so;
A Grocer’s plum might disappoint;
A Butcher?—no, not that—although
I hear “the times are out of joint!”
VI.
Too many of all trades there be,
Like Pedlars, each has such a pack,
A merchant selling coals?—we see
The buyer send to cellar back.
VII.
A Hardware dealer?—that might please,
But if his trade’s foundation leans
On spikes and nails, he won’t have ease
When he retires upon his means.
VIII.
A Soldier?—there he has not nerves
A Sailor seldom lays up pelf:
A Baker?—no, a baker serves
His customer before himself.
IX.
Dresser of hair?—that’s not the sort;
A joiner jars with his desire—
A Churchman?—James is very short,
And cannot to a church aspire.
X.
A Lawyer?—that’s a hardish term!
A Publisher might give him ease,
If he could into Longman’s firm
Just plunge at once “in medias Rees.”
A shop for pot, and pan, and cup,
Such brittle Stock I can’t advise;
A Builder running houses up,
Their gains are stories—may be lies!
XII.
A Coppersmith I can’t endure—
Nor petty Usher A, B, C-ing;
A Publican no father sure,
Would be the author of his being!
XIII.
A Paper-maker?—come he must
To rags before he sells a sheet—
A Miller?—all his toil is just
To make a meal—he does not eat.
XIV.
A Currier?—that by favour goes—
A Chandler gives me great misgiving—
An Undertaker?—one of those
That do not hope to get their living!
XV.
Three Golden Balls?—I like them not;
An Auctioneer I never did—
The victim of a slavish lot,
Obliged to do as he is bid!
XVI.
A Broker watching fall and rise
Of Stock?—I’d rather deal in stone,—
A Printer?—there his toils comprise
Another’s work beside his own.
A Cooper?—neither I nor Jem
Have any taste or turn for that,—
A fish retailer?—but with him,
One part of trade is always flat.
XVIII.
A Painter?—long he would not live,—
An Artist’s a precarious craft—
In trade Apothecaries give,
But very seldom take, a draught.
A Glazier?—what if he should smash!
A Crispin he shall not be made—
A Grazier may be losing cash,
Although he drives “a roaring trade.”
XX.
Well, something must be done! to look
On all my little works around—
James is too big a boy, like book,
To leave upon the shelf unbound.
XXI.
But what to do?—my temples ache
From evening’s dew till morning’s pearl,
What course to take my boy to make—
Oh could I make my boy—a girl!