26 



The Gambler, on a spade 



His all on earth will stake, Sirs ; 



The Drunkard is a sieve, 



The Libertine 's a rake, Sirs ; 



May he who like a blight 



The Maiden's peace has broke, Sirs, 



A hanging-Garden see, 



And feel the Art-to-choke, Sirs. 



The pretty Gentleman, 



So lady-like and lazy, 



Who goes to Mari-gold, 



And lisps out " lauk a daisey" 



Of Navarino stock 



A nice corsetted scion, 



Among the Garden stuff, 



He 's dubb'd a Dande-lion. 



The Spendthrift ends with slugs, 



And " Verbum sat " 's a hint, Sirs 



The Miser is a Snail, 



That starves upon the Mint, Sirs : 



You may Old bachelors 



In JSWer-berries nab, Sirs, 



Old maids they say are Medlars 



Grafted on the Crab, Sirs. 



We '11 toast the kitchen garden, 



The Dishes all and each, Sirs, 



It would our taste im-pair, 



Their goodness to im-peach, Sirs ; 



And may we never want 



The means such limbs to lop, Sirs, 



And always have good grounds, 



To gather a full Crop, Sirs, 



My lines I must re-trench, 



They better things impede, Sirs, 



And as my song 's sow, sow, 



Perhaps you may see seed, Sirs ; 



I 'm certain, with your Leaves, 



If doggrels thus should trick us 



Out of our good wine, 



Each would be Hortus siccua. 



Then may Life's evening sun, 



In setting be serene, Sirs ; 



Time well employ'd in Age 



Will make us evergreen, Sirs : 



And when the pruning-knife 



From feather, or from Cot-bed 



Transplants us to the soil, 



May we escape a HOT-BED. 



