By H. Salem
The People in Europe are much to be praised,
That in fighting they choose to be passing their days;
If their wars were abolished, there's room to suppose
Our Printers would growl, for the want of New-News.
May our tidings of warfare be ever from thence,
Nor that page be supplied at Columbia's expence!
No kings shall rise here, at the nod of a court,
Ambition, or Pride, with men's lives for to sport.
In such a display of the taste of the times—
The murder of millions—their quarrels and crimes,
A horrible system of ruin we scan,
A history, truly descriptive of man:
A Being, that Nature designed to be blest—
With abundance around him—yet rarely at rest,
A Being, that lives but a moment in years,
Yet wasting his life in contention and wars;
A Being, sent hither all good to bestow,
Yet filling the world with oppression and woe!
But, consider, ye sages, (and pray be resigned)
What ills would attend a reform of mankind—
Were wars at an end, and no nation made thinner,
My neighbour, the gun-smith, would go without dinner;
The Printers, themselves, for employment would fail,
And soldiers, by thousands, be starving in jail.