“Sermons in stones.”—As You Like It.

“Out! out! damned spot!”—Macbeth.
1.

I like you, Mrs. Fry! I like your name!

It speaks the very warmth you feel in pressing

In daily act round Charity’s great flame —

I like the crisp Browne way you have of dressing,

Good Mrs. Fry! I like the placid claim

You make to Christianity — professing

Love, and good works— of course you buy of Barton,

Beside the young Fry’s bookseller, Friend Darton!
2.

I like, good Mrs. Fry, your brethren mute —

Those serious, solemn gentlemen that sport —

I should have said, that wear, the sober suit

Shap’d like a court dress — but for heaven’s court.

I like your sisters too — sweet Rachel’s fruit —

Protestant nuns! I like their stiff support

Of virtue — and I like to see them clad

With such a difference — just like good from bad!
3.

I like the sober colors — not the wet;

Those gaudy manufactures of the rainbow —

Green, orange, crimson, purple, violet —

In which the fair, the flirting, and the vain, go —

The others are a chaste, severer set,

In which the good, the pious, and the plain, go —

They’re moral standards, to know Christians by —

In short, they are your colors, Mrs. Fry!
4.

As for the naughty tinges of the prism —

Crimson’s the cruel uniform of war —

Blue — hue of brimstone! minds no catechism;

And green is young and gay — not noted for

Goodness, or gravity, or quietism,

Till it is sadden’d down to tea-green, or

Olive — and purple’s giv’n to wine, I guess;

And yellow is a convict by its dress!
5.

They’re all the devil’s liveries, that men

And women wear in servitude to sin —

But how will they come off, poor motleys, when

Sin’s wages are paid down, and they stand in

The Evil presence? You and I know, then,

How all the party colors will begin

To part — the Pittite hues will sadden there,

Whereas the Foxite shades will all show fair!
6.

Witness their goodly labors one by one!

Russet makes garments for the needy poor —

Dove-color preaches love to all — and dun

Calls every day at Charity’s street door —

Brown studies scripture, and bids woman shun

All gaudy furnishing —olive doth pour

Oil into wounds: and drab and slate supply

Scholar and book in Newgate, Mrs. Fry!
7.

Well! Heaven forbid that I should discommend

The gratis, charitable, jail-endeavor!

When all persuasions in your praises blend —

The Methodist’s creed and cry are, Fry forever!

No — I will be your friend — and, like a friend,

Point out your very worst defect — Nay, never

Start at that word! But I must ask you why

You keep your school in Newgate, Mrs. Fry?
8.

Top well I know the price our mother Eve

Paid for her schooling: but must all her daughters

Commit a petty larceny, and thieve —

Pay down a crime for “entrance” to your “quarters”?

Your classes may increase, but I must grieve

Over your pupils at their bread and waters!

Oh, tho’ it cost you rent —(and rooms run high)

Keep your school out of Newgate, Mrs. Fry!
9.

O save the vulgar soul before it’s spoil’d!

Set up your mounted sign without the gate —

And there inform the mind before ’tis soil’d!

’Tis sorry writing on a greasy slate!

Nay, if you would not have your labors foil’d,

Take it inclining tow’rds a virtuous state,

Not prostrate and laid flat — else, woman meek!

The upright pencil will but hop and shriek!
10.

Ah, who can tell how hard it is to drain

The evil spirit from the heart it preys in —

To bring sobriet............