God made the wicked
For a mystery and a sign,
That men might shun the awful
And go to inns to dine;
Where the bacon's on the
And the wine is in the wood,
And God that made good
Has seen that they are good.
The evil-hearted
Would call his mother "Ma'am,"And bow at her and bob at her,
Her aged soul to damn,
And rub his horrid hands and
What article was
Though
IS IN
Should be her proper text.
His props are not his children,
But pert lads underpaid,
Who call out "Cash!" and bang
To work his wicked trade;
He keeps a lady in a
Most cruelly all day,
And makes her count and calls her "Miss"Until she fades away.
The righteous minds of
Induce them now and
To crack a bottle with a
Or treat unmoneyed men,
But who hath seen the
Treat housemaids to his
Or crack a bottle of fish
Or stand a man a cheese?
He sells us sands of
As sugar for cash down;
He sweeps his shop and sells the
The purest salt in town,
He crams with cans of poisoned
Poor subjects of the King,
And when they die by
Why, he laughs like anything.
The wicked Grocer
In spirits and in wine,
Not frankly and in
As men in inns do dine;
But packed with soap and
And carried off by grooms,
For to be snatched by
And drunk in dressing-rooms.
The hell-instructed
Has a temple made of tin,
And the ruin of good
Is loudly urged therein;
But now the sands are running
From sugar of a sort,
The Grocer trembles; for his time,
Just like his weight, is short.
