Who e’er is at Crewe

Will enough have to do

Without paying his court to the Muses,

E’en son’s of Apollo

Such blessings would follow

As Jove to their bribe oft refuses.

 

For the Bards, who want bread,

Would here be well fed;—

Here’s amusment[sic] for all sorts of Weather;—

On the water,—the Bark,—

In the house,—in the Park,—

Social joys set their horses together.—

 

Hospitality reigns,

Ev’ry spot shews the brains

Of the Lord and the Lady, who own it,

You here need no wit,

But in quiet may sit,

And admire the good folks, who have shown it.

 

Taste with sense is still found,

The whole Mansion around,

And Benevolence well understood,

For here genius is felt,

And the heart taught to melt

At the sight of pale Want, & her brood.

 

The Abbess and School,

On the innocent rule;

Here instruct them in Primitive Order,

For work and for pray’r

They each female prepare,

Which from evil thro’ life may well guard her.

 

Here the elegant Farm,

E’en the Cockneys may charm,

Who know not a Nettle from Thistle;—

The useful and sweet

Here so happily meet,

That for Nonsense in vain they may whistle.

 

Here gay Fancy and Taste,

The feat dwelling have Grac’d,

Ev’ry Chattel befits the “Costùmes”.

All things are a-kin,

Both without and within,

And nothing’s too fine, nor too gloomy.—

 

Here good breeding & sense

Equal notice dispense,

Nor the doors against Modesty shut;—

Here no man is oppress’d;

Here no Chaplain, or Guest,

Is the fool of his patron, or Butt.

 

Here distinction of rank

Is almost a mere blank,

All are levell’d like Sisters & Brothers,

What Wealth can afford,

To the Lady or Lord,

Is not for themselves,—but for others!—