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years disclose the will of Fate, I see you wedded to some equal mate; Thronged by a crowd of growing girls and boys, A heap of troubles, but a host of joys. On sights like these, should length of days attend, Still may good luck pursue you to the end; Still heaven vouchsafe the gifts it has in store; Still make you, what you would be, more and more; Preserve you happy, cheerful, and serene, Blest with your young retainers, and your Queen. YOUNG ENGLAND. The times still "grow to something strange"; We rap and turn the tables; We fire our guns at awful range; We lay Atlantic cables; We bore the hills, we bridge the seas-- To me 'tis better far To sit before my fire at ease, And smoke a mild cigar. We start gigantic bubble schemes,-- Whoever _can_ invent 'em!-- How splendid the prospectus seems, With int'rest cent. per centum His shares the holder, startled, sees At eighty below par: I dawdle to my club at ease, And light a mild cigar. We pickle peas, we lock up sound, We bottle electricity; We run our railways underground, Our trams above in this city We fly balloons in calm or breeze, And tumble from the car; I wander down Pall Mall at ease, And smoke a mild cigar. Some strive to get a post or place, Or entree to society; Or after wealth or pleasure race, Or any notoriety; Or snatch at titles or degrees, At ribbon, cross, or star: I elevate my limbs at ease, And smoke a mild cigar. Some people strive for manhood right With riots or orations; For anti-vaccination fight, Or temperance demonstrations: I gently smile at things like these, And, 'mid the clash and jar, I sit in my arm-chair at ease, And smoke a mild cigar. They say young ladies all demand A smart barouche and pair, Two flunkies at the door to stand, A mansion in May Fair: I can't afford such things as these, I hold it safer far To sip my claret at my ease, And smoke a mild cigar. It may be proper one should take One's place in the creation; It may be very right to make A choice of some vocation; With such remarks one quite agrees, So sensible they are: I much prefer to take my ease, And smoke a mild cigar. They say our morals are so so, Religion still more hollow; And where the upper classes go, The lower always follow; That honour lost with grace and ease Your fortunes will not mar: That's not so well; but, i
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