Must season soon the draff we give 'These are the arts, Lothario, which

Clothes to the broker, income to the Repented and reproach'd, and then

Rove not from pole to pole-the man

lives here

Whose razor's only equall'd by his beer;

And where, in either sense, the cockney-put

May, if he pleases, get confounded cut. For the Sign of an Alehouse kept by a Barber.

Chap. XXI.

CHANCE will not do the work, Chance sends the breeze;

But if the pilot slumber at the helm, The very wind that wafts us towards the port

Unlooses all our favourite ties on earth;
And well if they are such as may be
answer'd

In yonder world, where all is judged
of truly.
Old Play.

Chap. xxv.

GIVE US good voyage, gentle stream;

we stun not

Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry, Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks

With voice of flute and horn; we do but seek

On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom

May dash us on the shelves. The To glide in silent safety.

THIS is the time: Heaven's maiden- Yonder lie danger, shame, and

punishment.

sentinel Hath quitted her high watch; the lesser Most welcome danger then-nay, let

Are paling one by one; give me the Though spoke with swelling heart

DEATH finds us 'mid our playthings- How fares the man on whom good

snatches us,

men would look

As a cross nurse might do a wayward With eyes where scorn and censure child,

From all our toys and baubles. His rough call

combated,

But that kind Christian love hath

taught the lesson-

That they who merit most contempt Blood shall flow freely, but it shall be

Here's a red stream beneath this coarse HERE's neither want of appetites nor

blue doublet, That warms the heart as kindly as if Pray Heaven we be not scant of meat

WHY then, we will have bellowing of THIS is a love meeting! See the maiden

Broaching of barrels, brandishing of And the sad suitor bends his looks on