On The Posteriors

Because I am by nature blind,     I wisely choose to walk behind;     However, to avoid disgrace,     I let no creature see my face.     My words are few, but spoke with sense;     And yet my speaking gives offence:     Or, if to whisper I presume,     The company will fly the room.     By all the world I am opprest:     And my oppression gives them rest.         Through me, though sore against my will,     Instructors every art instil.     By thousands I am sold and bought,     Who neither get nor lose a groat;     For none, alas! by me can gain,     But those who give me greatest pain.     Shall man presume to be my master,     Who's but my caterer and taster?     Yet, though I always have my will,     I'm but a mere depender still:     An humble hanger-on at best;     Of whom all people make a jest.         In me detractors seek to find     Two vices of a different kind;     I'm too profuse, some censurers cry,     And all I get, I let it fly;     While others give me many a curse,     Because too close I hold my purse.     But this I know, in either case,     They dare not charge me to my face.     'Tis true, indeed, sometimes I save,     Sometimes run out of all I have;     But, when the year is at an end,     Computing what I get and spend,     My goings-out, and comings-in,     I cannot find I lose or win;     And therefore all that know me say,     I justly keep the middle way.     I'm always by my betters led;     I last get up, and first a-bed;     Though, if I rise before my time,     The learn'd in sciences sublime     Consult the stars, and thence foretell     Good luck to those with whom I dwell.