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Consistent in our follies, and our sins,
Here honest Nature ends as she begins.
Here honest Nature ends as she begins.
Behold a rev'rend Sire, whom Want of Grace
Has made the Father of a Nameless Race,
Crawl thro' the Street, shov'd on, or rudely press'd
By his own Sons, that pass him by un-bless'd!
Still to his Wench he creeps, on knocking knees,
And envies ev'ry Sparrow that he sees.
A Salmon's Belly, Helluo, was thy Fate.
The Doctor call'd declares all help too late.
Mercy! cries Helluo, mercy on my Soul!
Is there no hope? alas!—then bring the Jowl.
"Odious! in Woollen! 'twou'd a Saint provoke,
(Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke)
"No, let a charming Chintz, and Brussels lace
"Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face:
"One wou'd not, sure, be frightful when one's dead—
"And, Betty! give this Cheek a little Red.
Old Politicians chew on Wisdom past,
And blunder on in Bus'ness to the last;
As weak as earnest; and as gravely out,
As sober L * * w, dancing in the Gout.
Has made the Father of a Nameless Race,
Crawl thro' the Street, shov'd on, or rudely press'd
By his own Sons, that pass him by un-bless'd!
Still to his Wench he creeps, on knocking knees,
And envies ev'ry Sparrow that he sees.
A Salmon's Belly, Helluo, was thy Fate.
The Doctor call'd declares all help too late.
Mercy! cries Helluo, mercy on my Soul!
Is there no hope? alas!—then bring the Jowl.
"Odious! in Woollen! 'twou'd a Saint provoke,
(Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke)
"No, let a charming Chintz, and Brussels lace
"Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face:
"One wou'd not, sure, be frightful when one's dead—
"And, Betty! give this Cheek a little Red.
Old Politicians chew on Wisdom past,
And blunder on in Bus'ness to the last;
As weak as earnest; and as gravely out,
As sober L * * w, dancing in the Gout.
The
