Virginia Argus

POETRY.

From Bell's (London) Weekly Messenger

LIFE'S WEATHER GAUGE.

Composed By Mr. Dibdin.

I'm for Tom Tiller's golden maxim,
Who studies life in every stage;
He'll tell you plainly, if you ask him,
Content's this life's best Weather Gauge.

I own Tom had but little learning,
Such as our flats pick up at school;
Yet he's cunning and discerning,
And though no conjuror, Tom's no fool.

'Tis, cried Tom's, to peace a stranger
For Fortune's tempest cuts and drives
No single moment free from danger
And so does every man that lives

To toil and peril he his part takes,
Stands fire, and hurricane and shot:
He has his qualms, his head-aches, heart
aches,
And where's the lubber that has not?

The gold he gets does good to others;
Though he at random lets it fly; -
For, as mankind are all his brothers,
He keeps it in the family;

Hair breadth escapes each hour he weathers;
No moment he can call his own;
And thus are men put to their tethers
Up from the cottage to the throne.

The thing is this: in every station
We're born for pleasure and for trouble;
And, if you strike to each vexation,
Good Hope's true Cape you'll never double;

But take the good and evil cheerly
And sum up creditor and debtor,
If in this world they use you queerly.
- Be honest, and you'll find a better.

From the Desk of Poor Robert, the Scribe.