John Bull, go fatten up your Son

Against my passing by,

And Jackie Calf! be underdone

Whether you roast or fry;

I’ll take my time of Day from none—

Go carefully, say I!

When clocks like whirling windmills turn

And scarcely pause to chime

Like fast propellers at the stern

Of disappearing Time,

Then Time’s to squander, Time’s to burn,

And Leisure is no crime.

You’ve slung the World upon a cord

Your pendulum of rock;

Its every beat though you record,

I care no tick nor tock—

The Pen is mightier than the Sword,

But slower than the Clock.

Amphitryon may toot his horn

And puff-puff run to date,

But leisure was my cash and corn

Who’ve loitered in my gait,

Nor died of hurry, nor was born

Through fear of being late.