Sons of the earth, for plodding genius fam'd, Batavia long her earth-born natives claim'd: Begot from industry, and not from love, Swarming at length, to these fair climes they move.—
Still in these climes their numerous race survive, And, born to labour, still are found to thrive; Thro’ rain and sunshine toiling for their heirs They hold no nation on this earth like theirs.
Fond of themselves, no generous motives bind, To those that speak their gibberish, only kind:— Yet still some virtues, candour must confess, And truth shall own, some virtues they possess:
Where'er they fix, all nature smiles around Groves bend with fruit and plenty clothes the ground; No barren trees to shade their domes are seen, Trees must be fertile, and their dwellings clean,
No idle fancy dares its whims apply, Or hope attention from the master's eye, All tends to something that must pelf produce, All for some end, and every thing its use:—
Eternal scowerings keep their floors afloat, Neat as the outside of the Sunday coat; The hoe, the loom, the female band employ, These all their pleasure, these their darling joy;—
The strong-ribb'd lass no idle passions move, No frail ideas of romantic love; He to her heart the readiest path can find Who comes with gold, and courts her to be kind,
She heeds not valour, learning, wit, or birth, Minds not the swain — but asks him what he's worth. No female fears in her firm breast prevail, The helm she handles and she trims the sail,
In some small barque the way to market finds, Hauls aft the sheet, or veers it to the winds, While placed a-head, subservient to her will, Hans smokes his pipe, and wonders at her skill.
Health to their toils — thus may they still go on — Curse on my pen! What pictures have I drawn! Is this the general taste? No ( Truth replies ) — If fond of beauty, guiltless of disguise,
See — ( where, the social circle meant to grace ) The fair Cesarean shades her lovely face,— She, earlier held to happier tasks at home, Prefers the labours that her sex become,
Remote from view, directs some favourite art, And leaves to hardier man the ruder part.
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