A Sly Old Fish, Too Cunning For

To Every Class We Have A School Assign'd, Rules For All Ranks, And Food For Every Mind: Yet One There Is, That Small Regard To Rule Or Study Pays, And Still Is Deem'd A School; That, Where A Deaf, Poor, Patient Widow Sits, And Awes Some Thirty Infants As She Knits; Infants Of Humble, Busy Wives, Who Pay Some Trifling Price For Freedom Through The Day. At This Good Matron's Hut The Children Meet, Who Thus Becomes The Mother Of The Street.

With Awe, Around These Silent Walks I Tread; These Are The Lasting Mansions Of The Dead.

Tis Easiest Dealing With The Firmest Mind-- More Just When It Resists, And, When It Yields, More Kind.

Let's Learn To Live, For We Must Die Alone.

With Eye Upraised His Master's Look To Scan, The Joy, The Solace, And The Aid Of Man: The Rich Man's Guardian And The Poor Man's Friend, The Only Creature Faithful To The End.