Among the manuscripts preserved in the Society's rooms are some verses supposed to have been written nearly a century since by a Medford man, who was a schoolmaster.
Well worth reading today, the Register presents them:— [p. 97]
Books, of all earthly things my chief delight, My exercise by day, my dreams by night; Dispassioned masters, Friends without deceit, Who flatter not; companions ever sweet; With whom I'm always cheerful, from whom rise Improved and better, if not good and wise; Grave faithful counsellors, who all excite, Instruct and strengthen to behave aright; Admonish us when Fortune makes her court And when she's absent, solace and support. Happy the man to whom ye are well known; 'Tis his own fault if ever he's alone.
Ah, fly, incautious Youth the flattering snare, Which pleasure spreads to lure thee to her Gate; In her soft Courts conceal'd pale Want and Care, And dire Disease, and keen Remorse await; These Fiends shall drive thee from her dazzling shrine, And swift to Infamy's dread Cave consign.
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