Next rattling Dice invite th’ attentive Ear,
  Lords loudly laugh, as loud the Bullies swear: 
  The Country Knight o’th’ Shire sells his Estate,
  And here with Heart intrepid meets his Fate;
  So they withdrew to quench their glowing Flame,
  And to preserve the Honour of her Name;
  For oh! sad Fate as they ascend the Stairs,
  At the Room Door her good Mamma appears,
  Soon as she spies her Child with Looks demure,
  She charges her to keep her Vessel pure: 
  Miss pertly answers to avoid her Doom,
  Mamma, whose Hat and Wig is in the Room? 
  The good old Dame yeilds at the just Reproach,
  Cries—­Well my Dear, don’t take too much!

  Thus various Joys soon waste the fleeting Night,
  And Sleep and Lust the Croud to Bed invite;
  Some in their Truckle-Beds to snore all Day,
  Others in Gambols with their Wh——­es to play;
  The Dunghill Trapes, trickt up like virtuous Trull,
  If by good Chance, she gets a Dupe or Cull;
  On Tallyman intrudes twelve Hours more,
  And for a clean Shift presumes to run a Score.

  Sages may say, that Arts and Science fail,
  And Ignorance and Folly have weigh’d down the Scale: 
  In England they have given new Arts a Rise,
  And what in Science wants, increase in Vice,
  And to be great as Angels when they fell,
  (If not exceed) at least they equal Hell.

FINIS.