A Self conceited Country Bumkin
Thus made his glosses on a Pumkin.
The Fruit, says he, is very big,
The Stalk not thicker than a Twig,
Scarce any Root, great Leaves; I wonder,
Dame Nature should make such a blunder:
Had I been she, I would have plac'd it
On yon high Oak, and 'twould have grac'd it
Better than Acorns; its a whim
A little Shrub would do for them;
Why should a Tree so tall and fine,
Bear small stuff only fit for Swine?
But hundred things are made in waste,
Which shews the World was fram'd in haste.
Had I been sent for in those Days,
'Twould have been managed otherwise:
I would have made all of a suit,
And large Trees should have had large Fruit.
Thus he went on, and in his Eyes,
The Simpleton was very wise;
A little after, coming nigh
An Oak, whose Crown was very high,
He liked the Place and down he laid
His weary Carcass, in the Shade:
But, as the find-fault Animal
Turn'd on his Back, an Acorn fell,
And hit his Nose a swinging Blow.
Good God was this the Pumkin now!
The very thought on't struck him dumb:
He prais'd his Maker, and went home.
The Moral.
The World's vast Fabrick is so well
Contrived by its Creator's Skill;
There's nothing in't, but what is good
To him, by whom its understood;
And what opposes Human Sence,
Shews but our Pride and Ignorance.