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Poem

I am in all a moderate man,  a noted country gentleman'
with all the accoutrements, a house, a farm and gout.
My politics are not extreme, I'm reasonably devout.
 I have my peccadillos but they barely warrant mention.

To hide my light beneath a  bushel I've never felt an urge.
In one particular virtue I feel a measure of pride.
Judge after I have put my case if I'm not justified.
Temperance is my virtue.  I draw back from the verge.

Excess I shun as ‘twere the pox. Revels I'll have none,
for eating much and drinking much are folly's requisite.
At the vicarage and the  manor I am noted for my wit.
No local scandals I invite. London's there for fun.

Here on my farm, my little world, there reigns a blissful  peace.
Bumpkins and commoners alike still hail  me as the Squire.
Come end of day, I'll sip my port, roast chestnuts by the fire.
Was that the braying of an ass or the cackle of my geese?

When Walpole steered the ship of state how happily we plied!
No foreign broils or riotous mobs then then sapped the nation's wealth.
Complacent Whigs and good King George sustained our common heath,
but now dark clouds have gathered and adverse is the tide.

I thank my Maker day by day for being   richly blessed,
yet feel no little pang and twinge when I think upon the poor.
Much more could be done for them, of that I am quite sure.
To help me get to sleep at night a jug of stout is best.

In days done by I did aspire to turn men's hearts to good.
So great the world and I so small, unequal to the task.
Should risking all have aught effect? respectfully I ask
and thereby serve  the  greater world ?  I don't see how it could.

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