Page:Poems, Emerson, 1847.djvu/51

Rh We must have society,

We cannot spare variety.

Hear you, then, celestial fellows!

Fits not to be overzealous;

Steads not to work on the clean jump,

Nor wine nor brains perpetual pump.

Men and gods are too extense;

Could you slacken and condense?

Your rank overgrowths reduce

Till your kinds abound with juice?

Earth, crowded, cries, 'Too many men!'

My counsel is, kill nine in ten,

And bestow the shares of all

On the remnant decimal.

Add their nine lives to this cat;

Stuff their nine brains in his hat;

Make his frame and forces square

With the labors he must dare;

Thatch his flesh, and even his years

With the marble which he rears.

There, growing slowly old at ease,

No faster than his planted trees,