Japanese Morality.

Bright politicians in Japan
Doubt Acts which they themselves have named,
So stupid is their every man,
They cannot tell why such were framed !
Man doth create such senseless things,
Nor writes he plainly to the point;
And such is what our moral sings,
One perfect whole without a Joint.
Thou gentle Fisherman abide
With friends so clean, pray do not pass,
But angle with us side by side,
This holiday with scab, alas !
Wise lawyers know not long-tailed sheep,
Tho' wild when gentle shepherds see
Them climb high rocks and mounts to peep
Down on the Spectors in their spree.
Such men trudge not o'er rugged hills,
Nor know they aught of sheepish wiles,
'Tween cliffs which foster sparkling rills,
Each distant span seem like some miles.
Write laws of goats in history,
To aid our wondrous governed plan;
To lawyers, O what mystery !
E'en so to minds they strive to scan.
How oft we sing to one fair child,
Whose eyes are soft and chaste and bright,
With innocence so sweet and mild,
She questions if the law is right?
Or all Goat Spectors whose strong aid,
Slave for the law, are made so blind;
To unjust charges they have made,
For freedom of some foreign kind;
page 6 Our small estates pay taxes great,
To feed fat Spectors night and day,
And poor men find out when too late,
They've naught but coppers left to pay.
We grudge men half and would not give
Those dark Goat Spectors so much bread—
Would make them live like Chinchans live,
And muster wild goats in their stead.
Heed us, ye Japanese ! to please,
And sing not songs of drollery,
But smile to teach, nor sing to tease,
With stanzas of tom-foolery;
Question no more when sneaking round
About that straying Billy Goat,
Nor o'er the S brand, never found
On Rabbits, Ferrets, nor the Stoat.
Are not Goats fed upon reserve,
And within sight not many miles?
We blush for those that do deserve
To slave in driving Japan piles.
Fie Japanese, to set your trap
To catch a gentle lamb or sheep,
If either take one wink or nap
To rest with Nature's balmy sleep.
There's not a Spectre in the land
Can rouse a scabby flock to joy
O'er any known dull slothful hand
That's naught save one light empty toy.
Bah ! ingress—egress—regress—law,
To dance upon Tom Tiddler's ground;
The time's at hand our prophet saw,
With carcasses and Vultures round !
Old men do sing sweet liberty,
And youth of governed-vicious Acts
(The child of eccentricity)
Grave reasons for sound, truthful facts.