| |
| HEAV’N 1 save ye Gallants, and this hopeful Age, | |
| Y’ are welcome to the downfal of the Stage: | |
| The Fools have labour’d long in their Vocation; | |
| And Vice (the Manufacture of the Nation) | |
| O’erstocks the Town so much, and thrives so well, | 5 |
| That Fopps and Knaves grow Druggs, and will not sell. | |
| In vain our Wares on Theaters are shown, | |
| When each has a Plantation of his own. | |
| His Cruse 2 ne’r fails; for whatsoe’re he spends, | |
| There’s still God’s Plenty for himself and friends. | 10 |
| Shou’d Men be rated by Poetick Rules, | |
| Lord, what a Poll would there be rais’d from Fools! | |
| Mean time poor Wit prohibited must lye, | |
| As if ’twere made some French Commodity. | |
| Fools you will have, and rais’d at vast expence, | 15 |
| And yet as soon as seen, they give offence. | |
| Time was, when none wou’d cry that Oaf was mee, | |
| But now you strive about your Pedigree. | |
| Bauble and Cap no sooner are thrown down, | |
| But there’s a Muss of more than half the Town. | 20 |
| Each one will challenge a Child’s part at least; | |
| A sign the Family is well increas’d: | |
| Of Forreign Cattle there’s no longer need, | |
| When w’are supply’d so fast with English Breed. | |
| Well! Flourish, Countrymen; drink, swear, and roar; | 25 |
| Let every free-born Subject keep his Whore, | |
| And wandring in the Wilderness about, | |
| At end of 40 years not wear her out. | |
| But when you see these Pictures, let none dare | |
| To own beyond a Limb, or single share; | 30 |
| For where the Punk is common, he’s a Sot | |
| Who needs will father what the Parish got. | |
