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.