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66 O'er all the land of Brentford.
I'm lord and eke of Kew: I've three per cents and five per cents,
My debts are but a few; And to inherit after me
I have but children two.
“ Prince Thomas is
Till now (he's twenty-three) He never caused disquiet
To his poor mamma or me. “At school they never flogg'd him,
At college though not fast,
He creditably pass'd,
For eighteen months to last. " He never owed a shilling,
Went never drunk to bed, He has not two ideas
Within his honest headIn all respects he differs From
Prince Ned. " When Tom has half his income
Laid by at the year's end, Poor Ned has ne'er a stiver
That rightly he may spend, But sponges on a tradesman,
Or borrows from a friend.
“ While Tom his legal studies
Most soberly pursues,
A-dawdling with the Muse:
Young Ned frequents the Jews.
“Ned drives about in buggies,
Tom sometimes takes a 'bus; Ah, cruel fate, why made you
My children differ thus? Why make of Tom a dullard,
And Ned a genius ? " " You'll cut him with a shilling,"
Exclaimed the man of wits : “I'll leave my wealth,” said Brentford,
“Sir Lawyer, as befits; And portion both their fortunes
Unto their several wits." “ Your Grace knows best,” the lawyer said,
commands I wait." “Be silent, Sir," says Brentford,
“A plague upon your prate! Come, take your pen
paper, And write as I dictate." The will as Brentford spoke it
Was writ and signed and closed ; He bade the lawyer leave him,
And turn'd him round and dozed;
The good old King reposed.
Of mourners was the chief;
Poor Edward showed his grief : Tom hid his fat white countenance
In his pocket-handkerchief. Ned's eyes were full of weeping,
He falter'd in his walk;
But onwards he did stalk,
And when the bones of Brentford
That gentle king and justWith bell and book and candle
Were duly laid in dust, " Now, gentlemen,” says Thomas,
" Let business be discussed.
66 When late our sire belovëd
Was taken deadly ill,
(I mean to tax your bill); And, as you signed and wrote it,
I pr’ythee read the will."
And drew the parchment out;
Sate eager round about :
But Tom had ne'er a doubt. “My son, as I make ready
To seek my last long home, Some cares I had for Neddy, But none for thee, my
Tom: Sobriety and order
You ne'er departed from. “Ned hath a brilliant genius,
And thou a plodding brain; On thee I think with pleasure,
On him with doubt and pain.” ("You see, good Ned," says Thomas,
“What he thought about us twain.") Though small was your allowance,
You saved a little store ;
Shall get a plenty more.”
Tom's eyes were running o’er.
" The tortoise and the hare, Tom,
Set out, at each his pace; The hare it was the fleeter,
The tortoise won the race; And since the world's beginning
This ever was the case. "Ned's genius, blithe and singing,
Steps gaily o'er the ground; As steadily you trudge it,
He clears it with a bound; But dulness has stout legs, Tom,
And wind that's wondrous sound.
• O'er fruits and flowers, alike, Tom,
You pass with plodding feet; You heed not one nor t'other
But onwards go your beat, While Genius stops to loiter
With all that he may meet; "And ever as he wanders,
Will have a pretext fine, For sleeping in the morning,
Or loitering to dine, Or dozing in the shade,
Or basking in the shine. “Your little steady eyes, Tom,
Though not so bright as those That restless round about him
Your flashing Genius throws, Are excellently suited
To look before your nose. “ Thank heaven, then, for the blinkers
It placed before your eyes ;
The witty are not wise ;
It is your dearest prize!
“ And though my lands are wide,
And plenty is my gold,
My Thomas, do
A heart that's dull and cold. "Too dull to feel depression,
Too hard to heed distress,
Or silly tenderness.
To wealth, Tom, and success. “ Ned sinneth in extravagance, And
you in greedy lust,” (" I' faith,” says Ned, father
Is less polite than just,”) “In you, son Tom, I've confidence,
But Ned I cannot trust.
My lands and tenements,
My houses and my rents,
My five and three per cents ; “ I leave to you, my Thomas,"
(“ What all ?" poor Edward said ; "Well, well, I should have spent them,
And Tom's a prudent head") “I leave to you, my Thomas,
To you IN TRUST for Ned.” he wrath and consternation
What poet e'er could trace That at this fatal passage
Came o’er Prince Tom, his face; The wonder of the company,
And honest Ned's amaze!