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.