Knows when he does he’ll be Commander
The chief one or a Salamander.
A real fire eater like the Sun
By his own bravery surely won.
The sailor keeps a pleasure yacht
Has nought to do but live on what
The smiling elements that never frown
Freely disclose as up and down
For pleasure merely roam about
The fleets of vessels of which he’ll take
Entire command for the nation’s sake,
Nor cares he where to move or swim.
’Till death commands to dowse the glim.
Some other oceans then he’ll try,
Rolling eternal in the sky –
The tinker next with barrow trig
Knows every wandering gypsy rig
Where does he lodge? ’tis hard to say
Whether a house or stack of hay
Serves the poor outcast for his rest
He’s butt howe’er for many a jest
Lives in a world of nether pose
Mysterious obscure, your senses lose
Or cast aside as nothing worth
Nor length it has nor breadth or girth
Just now he marks the filbert big
Stript of its natural russet wig
How would he here his skill to prove?
He’d grind it p’raps? Not so by Jove
Clumsily skilful though he be
He knows too much for that d’ye see
Around the fairy villages he’ll stray
Knives scissors to grind might bawl each day.
Knows well the tailor reg’lar grinds his shears.
Ah! That’s a tailor brave that knows no fears.
Nine fairy tailors would not make a man
Tho’ they might queer him, you know well they can.
But this one seems disposed to queer,
The plough-boy that is standing to him near
Shews him a coat neat made and very strong
’T’would last the lad his fairy life time long.
But while he doubts the same to buy,
The Thief his craft on him doth try.
Loosens his handkerchief so gay.
Too artful he to snatch away.
The doctor in his thoughts reserved.
The trick below hath not observed
But with his sounding pestle beats,
The drugs that he to fairy metes.
His mortar would not hold the nut.
But holds enough for fairy gut.
A nostrum or a panacea
At any price we’ll say not dear.
Next to the Soldier on his right,
a Dragon Fly exerts his skill & might
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