Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE TWO WEAVERS, by HANNAH MORE



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THE TWO WEAVERS, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: As at their work two weavers sat, / beguiling time with friendly chat
Last Line: For my own carpet sets me right.
Variant Title(s): The Carpet;turn The Carpet; Or The Two Weavers


As at their work two weavers sat,
Beguiling time with friendly chat,
They touch'd upon the price of meat,
So high a weaver scarce could eat.

What with my babes and sickly wife,
Quoth Dick, I'm almost tir'd of life;
So hard we work, so poor we fare,
'T is more than mortal man can bear.

How glorious is the rich man's state,
His house so fine, his wealth so great;
Heaven is unjust, you must agree,
Why all to him, and none to me?

In spite of what the Scripture teaches,
In spite of all the pulpit preaches,
The world, indeed I've thought so long,
Is rul'd, methinks, extremely wrong.

Where'er I look, howe'er I range,
'T is all confus'd, and hard, and strange;
The good are troubled and opprest,
And all the wicked are the blest.

Quoth John, our ignorance is the cause
Why thus we blame our Maker's laws;
Parts of his ways alone we know,
'T is all that man can see below.

Seest thou that carpet, not half done,
Which thou, dear Dick, hast well begun?
Behold the wild confusion there!
So rude the mass, it makes one stare.

A stranger, ignorant of the trade,
Would say no meaning's there convey'd;
For where's the middle, where's the border?
The carpet now is all disorder.

Quoth Dick, my work is yet in bits,
But still in every part it fits;
Besides, you reason like a lout,
Why man, that carpet's inside out!

Says John, -- Thou say'st the thing I mean,
And now I hope to cure thy spleen:
This world, which clouds thy soul with doubt,
Is but a carpet inside out.

As when we view these shreds and ends,
We know not what the whole intends;
So when on earth things look but odd,
They're working still some scheme of God.

No plan, no pattern can we trace,
All wants proportion, truth, and grace;
The motley mixture we deride,
Nor see the beauteous upper side.

But when we reach the world of light,
And view these works of God aright;
Then shall we see the whole design,
And own the workman is divine.

What now seem random strokes will there
All order and design appear;
Then shall we praise what here we spurn'd,
For then, the carpet will be turn'd.

Thou'rt right, quoth Dick, no more I'll grumble
That this world is so strange a jumble;
My impious doubts are put to flight,
For my own carpet sets me right.





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