BALLAD. (Chairs to mend, old chairs to mend)

Chairs to mend, old chairs to mend. Like mine to botch is each man's fate, Each toils in his vocation— One man tinkers up the state, Another mends the nation:

Your parsons preach to mend the heart; They cobble heads at college; Physicians patch with terms of art And latin, want of knowledge.

But none for praise can more contend Than I, Who cry Old chairs to mend.

Your lawyer's tools are flaws and pleat; They manners mend by dancing; Wigs are patches for degrees, And lovers use romancing:

Fortunes are mended up and made, Too frequently, with places— With rouge, when their complexions fade, Some ladies mend their faces.

But none for praise, &c.