| "Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long." 'Tis not with me exactly so; But 'tis so in the song. My wants are many and, if told, Would muster many a score; And were each wish a mint of gold, I still should long for more.
What first I want is daily bread -- And canvas-backs, -- and wine -- And all the realms of nature spread Before me, when I dine. Four courses scarcely can provide My appetite to quell; With four choice cooks from France beside, To dress my dinner well.
What next I want, at princely cost, Is elegant attire : Black sable furs for winter's frost, And silks for summer's fire, And Cashmere shawls, and Brussels lace My bosom's front to deck, -- And diamond rings my hands to grace, And rubies for my neck.
I want (who does not want?) a wife, -- Affectionate and fair; To solace all the woes of life, And all its joys to share. Of temper sweet, of yielding will, Of firm, yet placid mind, -- With all my faults to love me still With sentiment refined.
And as Time's car incessant runs, And Fortune fills my store, I want of daughters and of sons From eight to half a score. I want (alas! can mortal dare Such bliss on earth to crave?) That all the girls be chaste and fair, -- The boys all wise and brave.
I want a warm and faithful friend, To cheer the adverse hour, Who ne'er to flatter will descend, Nor bend the knee to power, -- A friend to chide me when I'm wrong, My inmost soul to see; And that my friendship prove as strong For him as his for me.
I want the seals of power and place, The ensigns of command; Charged by the People's unbought grace To rule my native land. Nor crown nor sceptre would I ask But from my country's will, By day, by night, to ply the task Her cup of bliss to fill.
I want the voice of honest praise To follow me behind, And to be thought in future days The friend of human-kind, That after ages, as they rise, Exulting may proclaim In choral union to the skies Their blessings on my name.
These are the Wants of mortal Man, -- I cannot want them long, For life itself is but a span, And earthly bliss -- a song. My last great Want -- absorbing all -- Is, when beneath the sod, And summoned to my final call, The Mercy of my God.
|