TO MY INGENUOUS FRIEND, R. W.

When we are dead, and now, no more

Our harmless mirth, our wit, and score

Distracts the town; when all is spent

That the base niggard world hath lent

Thy purse, or mine; when the loath'd noise

Of drawers, 'prentices and boys

Hath left us, and the clam'rous bar

Items no pints i' th' Moon or Star;

When no calm whisp'rers wait the doors,

To fright us with forgotten scores;

And such aged long bills carry,

As might start an antiquary;

When the sad tumults of the maze,

Arrests, suits, and the dreadful face

Of sergeants are not seen, and we

No lawyers' ruffs, or gowns must fee:

When all these mulcts are paid, and I

From thee, dear wit, must part, and die;

We'll beg the world would be so kind,

 Prev. P 38/410 next