English poem
A CALL TO THE SOIREE * OF THE MECHANIC'S INSTITUTE, DECEMBER 23,
by Thomas Cowherd (1817–1907)
Come, friends, to the Soiree; O why will you tarry When good things are waiting you there? For, after the eating, our friends, for this, meeting Have speeches prepared with due care.
Let all upper classes give ladies cash passes, 'Twill cost but a very small price; And what they may spend in a way that will end in Real good, is a blow unto vice.
Come, merchants and doctors; come lawyers and proctors, And treat all your clerks to the feast. Fear not that your kindness will make them more mindless Of what is your interest, the least.
Come, all ye mechanics, for no dreadful panics Will meet you with grim spectre-faces. Bring also your spouses, nor leave in your houses Those charmers who wear childhood's graces.
Come, each son of labor, and do us the favor Of tasting the good things provided. A truce to your moiling! for hard daily toiling Gives Rank that must ne'er be derided.
Haste all to the Soiree; none need to be sorry For giving our Institute aid. The good you may do us'll diffuse itself through us To the townsfolks of every grade.