Song Of The Poco-Curante Society.

haud curat Hippoclides.             ERASM. Adag.     To those we love we've drank tonight;         But now attend and stare not,     While I the ampler list recite         Of those for whom WE CARE NOT.     For royal men, howe'er they frown,         If on their fronts they bear not     That noblest gem that decks a crown,         The People's Love--WE CARE NOT.     For slavish men who bend beneath         A despot yoke, yet dare not     Pronounce the will whose very breath         Would rend its links--WE CARE NOT.     For priestly men who covet sway         And wealth, tho' they declare not;     Who point, like finger-posts, the way         They never go--WE CARE NOT.     For martial men who on their sword,         Howe'er it conquers, wear not     The pledges of a soldier's word,         Redeemed and pure--WE CARE NOT.     For legal men who plead for wrong.         And, tho' to lies they swear not,     Are hardly better than the throng         Of those who do--WE CARE NOT.     For courtly men who feed upon         The land, like grubs, and spare not     The smallest leaf where they can sun         Their crawling limbs--WE CARE NOT.     For wealthy men who keep their mines         In darkness hid, and share not     The paltry ore with him who pines         In honest want--WE CARE NOT.     For prudent men who hold the power         Of Love aloof, and bare not     Their hearts in any guardless hour         To Beauty's shaft--WE CARE NOT.     For all, in short, on land or sea,         In camp or court, who are not,     Who never were, or e'er will be         Good men and true--WE CARE NOT.