4

  Now our Hive is so pinch’d, both for room and for honey,
  The industrious Bees would fain kick out the Drones: 
  But expose not your Life, for victuals nor money;
  ’Tis better you supperless sleep with whole bones,
        Then shuffle, and hustle,
        Keep clear of the bustle,
  Step out of the way-when they kick up a breeze: 
        Preserve your own Life,
        Till the end of the strife: 
  Then the few that are left will have more Bread and Cheese.

5

  Think not Hell is let loose with a terrible mission,
  To punish a world for incor’gible Sin. 
  Not from angry Gods, nor from deep Politicians,
  War nat’rally springs from the Passions of Men[13]: 
        ’Tis for room and for food,
        That Men fight and shed blood[14];
  When sufficiently thinn’d the inducement will cease: 
        There’ll be room for us all,
        When our numbers are small: 
  And the few that are left will have more Bread and Cheese.

[Footnote 13:  So hath said the APOSTLE. Ja:  iv. 1 But then these warring Passions are something very like national Sins.  C.L.]

[Footnote 14:  Bad as this would be, it would be well if they made not War on Motives less naturally urgent than these:  “glandem atque ambilia propter.”  It is worse to make Wars of Heroical, still worse of Ministerial, and worst of all of Commercial Speculation.  C.L.]

* * * * *

LYRIC ADDRESS TO DR. JENNER.

[Vaccine Inoculation.—­Distress and Terrors of the Small Pox.—­Dangers of Delay.]

* * * * *

1

  Rejoice, rejoice, Humanity! 
    The fell, destructive, sore Disease,
  The pest of ages, now can be,
    Repell’d with safety and with ease.

2

  He well deserves his Country’s Meed,
    By whom the peerless blessing came;
  And thousands from destruction freed,
    Shall raptur’d speak of JENNER’S name.

3

  Yes, JENNER’S vigilance is crown’d;
    A sovereign antidote is given: 
  The Blessing flows the Nations round;
    Free he diffus’d the gift of Heaven.

4

  So well approv’d it’s sure effect,
    To turn aside the’ impending harm;
  And shall parental Love neglect
    To minister the precious balm?

5

  Oh! no; beware of dire Delay,
    Ye, who caress your Infants dear: 
  Defer it not from day to day,
    From month to month, from year to year: 

6

  Lest you, like me, too late lament,
    Your Life bereft of all it’s joy;
  Clasp now the Gift so kindly sent,
    Lest you behold your dying Boy!

7

  Lest you see with trembling Fear,
    With inexpressible Distress;
  The purple spots of Death appear,
    To blast your Hopes and Happiness: