Happiness Poem by William Hutton

Read but these lines, and you'll confess,
They'll point direct to happiness.
Though plain the picture brought to view
You'll find the features strictly true.

Why should the poet ever deign
To coin a fiction in his brain;
Then speciously a tale's unfurl'd
Of falshood, to reform the world;
When, if of life he takes a view,
There's incident enough that's true;
Which fit a case exact, when put,
Just as a shoe will fit your foot.

As no condition man must share,
E'er was, or can be, free from care,
So some small joy will be the lot,
From palaces down to the cot;
Then that's most happy, we must grant,
When prudence gives what we shall want;
For if great wealth brings care and doubt,
He's happiest who can do without.
To think the same you'll be inclin'd
Except 'ambition fires your mind;'
But, if you doubt the truth I write,
I'll place it in the clearest light.

Joseph and Sarah shall be brought;
They'll ratify the lesson taught;
Young people, who, in days of yore,
Labour'd for what they eat and wore.

Joseph, a farmer's son, was found
To save, by caution, forty pound.
As he a married state would try,
On Sally cast a lover's eye.

When they'd through smiling, pressing gone,
Besought the Priest to make two one.

If prudence springs in single life,
It flourishes in man and wife.
He built a house for forty pound
Upon 'Squire Mundy's cottage ground;
Behav'd as peaceful tenants ought,
And paid the 'Squire a yearly groat.

To this abode he took his wife,
And took his station during life.
`Their whole œconomy, I knew,
Sprung from the stock from whence I grew.

Joining the house you might behold
A little yard, high nam'd--'The Fold,'
Stock'd well with chickens; ducks a dabbling;
Besides three geese, most stately gabbling;
Which boldly star'd you in the face
As if joint sovereigns of the place,
And would have said, as you look'd on,
Could they speak English--'Sir, be gone!'
One of the bristly race, not more,
To aid the house with winter-store.

A crazy barn with one small bay,
Not over-stock'd with corn or hay;
Where strolling beggars, through a gap,
Enter'd at night to steal a nap.
And that was all a thief could steal
From this nocturnal commonweal.

A shed, whose entrance fac'd the house--
This held a treasure--three sleek cows;
Whose profits, studiously to count,
Would quickly rise to some amount.

A garden, small, but warm snug spot,
Meant chiefly to supply the pot;
Whose produce made friend Knowles look big,
When on his plate it met the pig.

Behind the barn an orchard neat,
Grac'd with one tree, whose fruit was sweet.
This will admit of no dispute;
I've scal'd the tree to taste the fruit.

All I've describ'd, an acre near,
Was wholly under Sarah's care.
And not a soul beneath the skies,
Perhaps, could make more profit rise.
This garden snug, and orchard warm,
Compos'd exact our hero's farm.

'Who,' says the critic, looking deep,
'On this small patch three cows can keep?'
Why, the waste lands, and open fields,
During nine months, a tribute yields.

Let me just add to what I've said,
Six sheep upon the common fed:
These were friend Joseph's care, no doubt,
Who strove to keep the maggots out.

THE SECOND PART

If peace of mind you wish to see,
Let your concerns contracted be.
The more expanded your affairs,
The more they'll multiply your cares.
What fisherman has cause to fret
If all be well with boat and net?
What shepherd can exert his sway
Over his flock when gone astray?

Joseph in servitude appears;
A lab'rer more than three-score years;
And, with his masters, in such grace,
Was never known to change his place.
In winter eight-pence was his gains;
In summer twelve rewards his pains.

He, strait and thin, near six feet high;
She, short and thick, with but one eye.
Two sons, one daughter, and no more,
Came, at long intervals, as store.

They rose at five; they din'd at noon;
At seven they supp'd--the day was done.
Tea-equipage ne'er made its way;
Milk-porridge smoak'd at break of day.
At nine repose they seek, and find;
Result of labour--peace of mind.
An early hour ne'er threw away,
Nor need they catch one through the day.

In summer-time, you might observe,
His scythe and sickle make a curve.
In winter days, his flail sublime
True as a fidler's foot beat time.
Should you attend, morn, night, and noon,
You'd find his instrument in tune.

They fairly got their little store;
Made both ends meet--and something more.
No penny e'er sustain'd abuse;
Each answer'd to some proper use.
The want of money brought no sorrow;
They rather chose to lend than borrow;
Nor would object, sometimes, to spend
A social hour with pipe and friend:
With none but friends such hour might be--
It could not with an enemy.

If we survey their chimney's nitch,
'Twas honour'd with a bacon flitch
When to their house approach'd a guest,
They cut that part which seem'd the best;
But what was of more value yet,
The visitant a welcome met.
This would sincerity impart,
Which coming from, it reach'd the heart.

Wine, brandy, spirits, or strong beer,
Were rather shy at ent'ring there.
Master and Mistress were as shy;
This happy cot they ne'er came nigh.
Joseph and Sarah--modest brace!
The Priest gave these--they kept their place.

Unpolish'd language you might hear;
But then that language was sincere.
Falshood in silk will be dispis'd;
But truth's admir'd, though homely guis'd.
Into disputes none could decoy them;
The lawyer got no profit by them.
Content, food, work, diseases put out,
And these the hungry doctor shut out.

The parish Priest far better sped;
Attentive both to what he said.
From conscience their small tithes they paid,
Although unconscionably laid.

In wedded love so bright they shin'd,
I'd match them against all mankind.
When fifteen years had wing'd full fast,
One angry word had never pass'd:
And I'm convinc'd the same you'll find
In all the fifteens left behind.
Neither commanded nor submitted,
She ne'er was halter'd, nor he bitted.
They harmoniz'd in what was done
Exactly as if two were one;
Just as two bones which form one joint;
Or two feet marching to one point.
In scales let two new guineas chink,
One ne'er will let the other sink.

Their stile of dress, from foot to crown,
Ran many an age of fashions down.
His Sunday suit quite fresh appears--
The Sunday suit of twenty years.
To many a generation known,
Who could declare it was his own.

Their manners simple as their dress;
In all their living no excess.
With innocence and prudence join'd,
What sorrow could attack the mind?

Our couple to each other true,
Punctual in word and action too,
Pass'd four-score years, then cross'd that bourn
From whence no traveller can return;
Leaving behind, in humble station,
A lesson worthy imitation.