Note 3 — Chapter XXIV · “THEY COMPLAIN THAT THE TWOPENNY TRASH IS READ.”

Come, little children, list’ to me While I describe your duty, And kindly lead your eyes to see Of lowliness the beauty. ’Tis true your bony backs are bare, Your lips too dry for spittle, Your eyes as dead as whitings’ are, Your bellies growl for vict’al; But, dearest children, oh! believe, Believe not treach’rous senses! ’Tis they your infant hearts deceive, And lead into offences. When frost assails your joints by day, And lice by night torment ye, ’Tis to remind you oft to pray, And of your sins repent ye. At parching lips when you repine, And when your belly hungers, You covet what, by right Divine, Belongs to Borough-mongers. Let dungeons, gags, and hangman’s noose, Make you content and humble, Your heav’nly crown you’ll surely lose If here on earth you grumble.