Classic Poem

— In the character of Puncb. —

What a pity 'twill be, odds babies and lambs,
To possess the young things by the side of their mams,
Not with innocent love, but, odds pranks and curvetting,
With oglings, and leerings, and airs, and coquettings.

What a pity a widow, odds prayers and religion,
Who has mourn'd for her husband like any tame pigeon
Should all on a sudden, odls fruit that is mellow,
To comfort her find out a sturdy young fellow.
And digadon deer,
Go on her career,
Digadon, digadon,
Odds right turn'd to wrong;
Odds bridewells and whipping-posts, pillories and flocks,
When Madam Pandora has open'd her box.

II.

What a pity 'twill be — odds hearts and odds hands,
That the man whose large soul generous pity expands,
Should turn quick as thought, odds per cent and per annum,
A hunter of heirs, with a view to trepan 'em.

What a pity a statesman, odds good of the nation,
Who for hours without pension would make an oration,
Should, plump in an instant, odds Janus's faces,
Shut his mouth up till given half a dozen places.
And digadon deer, &c.

III.

What a pity 'twill be, odds contusions and scars,
That the world for ambition should plunge into wars;
What a pity young fellows, odds rakes and hard livers,
Should fall in their youth, through consumptions and fevers.

What a pity 'twill be, odds prison and palace,
That a judge should erect, and a thief fear the gallous;
And what pity, odds venison, and sturgeon, and trout,
That eating and drinking should give us the gout.

And digadon deer, &c.