I Paint The Cot, As Truth Will

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.

In General Satire, Every Man Perceives A Slight Attack, Yet Neither Fears Nor Grieves.

All Green Was Anished Sae Of Pine And Yew, That Still Displayed Their Melancholy Hue; Sae The Green Holly With Its Berries Red, And The Green Moss That O'er The Grael Spread.

Say, Ye Oppress'd By Some Fantastic Woes, Some Jarring Nerve That Baffles Your Repose; Who Press The Downy Couch, While Slaves Advance With Timid Eye, To Read The Distant Glance; Who With Sad Prayers The Weary Doctor Tease, To Name The Nameless Ever-new Disease; Who With Mock Patience Dire Complaints Endure, Which Real Pain And That Alone Can Cure; How Would Ye Bear In Real Pain To Lie, Despised, Neglected, Left Alone To Die? How Would Ye Bear To Draw Your Latest Breath, Where All That's Wretched Paves The Way For Death?

Oh, Rather Give Me Commentators Plain, Who With No Deep Researches Vex The Brain; Who From The Dark And Doubtful Love To Run, And Hold Their Glimmering Tapers To The Sun.