In this strange Town a different Course we take, Refine ourselves to Spirit, for your Sake. For Want of you, we spend our random Wit on The first we find with Needham, Brooks, or Briton. Hackney'd in Sin, we beat about the Town, And like sure Spaniels, at first Scent lie down. Were Virtue's self in Silks, -- faith keep away! Or Virtue's Virtue scarce would last a Day. Thus, Madam, most Men talk, and some Men do: The rest is told you in a Line or two. Some strangely wonder you're not fond to marry -- A double Jest still pleases sweet Sir Harry -- Small-Pox is rife, and Gay in dreadful fear -- The good Priests whisper -- Where's the Chevalier? Much in your Absence B--'s Heart endures, And if poor Pope is cl-pt, the Fault is yours. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ADAM AND HIS FATHER by KAREN SWENSON A LITANY OF ATLANTA by WILLIAM EDWARD BURGHARDT DU BOIS EPITHALAMIUM by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN OLD MOTHERS by CHARLES SARSFIELD ROSS SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 29. CHRIST AND ENGLAND by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) YESTERDAY by CHARLES GRANGER BLANDEN TO A FRIEND IN THE NAVY, SICK AT HOME by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |