The Prodigal Son Converted,
OR
The Young-man returnd from his Rambles.
Wit nere till now, was cryd about the street,
At the low rate of a poor Penny sheet;
Sharp times will make sharp wits, not fear sharp tongues,
Tis we who money want which suffer wrongs;
You cant command a Poet with a frown
To write new Songs: but yours, for a Crown:
Heres that will please you sure, and much befreind ye.
Youll thank the Author, if the Devil be nt in ye.
To a pleasant New Play-house Tune calld The Delights of the Bottle, etc.
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THe delights & the pleasures
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of a man without care,
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For the present are sweet,
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but ith end prove a snare,
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The extravagant youth,
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who in Frolicks runs mad,
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Being vitious ore much,
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will have cause to be sad.
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Debauches are sorrows,
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and robs us of rest,
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Tis the temperate man
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with enjoyment is blest.
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From fifteen till thirty
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just halfe of my time,
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I have lived in excess,
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and have thought it no crime.
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My Father being dead,
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I was left a young fool,
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Companion for none,
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but for boys in the school,
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Debauches are sorrows
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and robs us of rest
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Tis the temperate man
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with enjoyment is blest.
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Then some of my friends
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did begin for to chat
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That I had an estate
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I soon hearkend to that,
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And I quickly found Tutors
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to show me the way,
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In ranting and roaring
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to spend night and day;
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These tickld my fancy
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with vice all a-mode,
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Then I must be riding
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in that pleasant Road.
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I quickly arrivd
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to a wretched estate
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To act what the Devil
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could think or Creat,
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But since they are past
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I will count it no sin
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To name them in order
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as I did begin.
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But my chief delight
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was in vice all-a-mode,
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And I often was riding
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in that pleasant Road.
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First
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The Second part, To the same Tune.
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FIrst the Tavern me courted
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to lend it some coin,
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And to taste of these blessings
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that sprang from the vine,
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Whhich I found to be pleasant
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and always inviting
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So sweet is that sin,
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which we most do delight in
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The Fidlers to curse
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and the drawers command
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Is enough for those Fops
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who no more understand.
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The Bottles of Bacchus
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did my strength overcome,
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And with empty Pockets
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sent me realing home,
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Sick qualms of the stomach
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did blame my hard drinking,
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But I counted repentance
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was scarce worth my thinking;
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The Fidlers to curse
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and the drawers command
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Is enough for those Fops
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who no more understand.
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Then high for a Wench
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when my blood it was warm,
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If she were but in rags
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she might easily charm,
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And enjoy all I had
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if she seemd to be kind;
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And would simper out Bawdy
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to tickle my mind;
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Then home to her lodging
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she might easily draw me,
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My flames made me bold
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that I card not who saw me.
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Though it was but a hole
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where this Lady did ly,
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Yet she made me amends
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you shall hear by and by
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With a kiss and a smile
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and a sigh all-a-mode
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She guided my hand to
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the very right Road,
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Which home to her lodging
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full often did draw me
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My joyes were so great
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that I card not who saw me.
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That sport I soon learnd,
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and that which is worse,
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She taught me to swear
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to damn and to curse,
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That in half a years time
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I had practicd so well,
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That for drinking and whoring
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thers none did excells,
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For swearing and cursing
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in common discourse,
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I thought, if left out,
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made my language the worse.
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Then next to accomplish
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my self like a man,
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I must learn for to game well,
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as fast as I can:
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With some Bully Hector,
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I must venture a pound,
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Theres enough of those blades
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that may quickly be found,
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Forswearing and cursing
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in common discourse,
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And to win all my Guinneys
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which I [t]hought much worse.
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All which by degrees
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my estate did so waste,
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I began to think that
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I made too much haste
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Being cloyd with enjoymen[t]s
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of such foolish pleasure,
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Ile now lead my life in
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a tempera[t]e measure
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Yet with a true friend
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merry and jolly,
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With a Bottle or two
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I do count it no folly.
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What we drink in excess
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makes the appetite dull,
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And empties the bags
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be they never so full:
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It shortens our lives
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and deprives us of health
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Then Young men beware
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and make much of your wealth
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Yet with a true friend
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to be merry and jolly,
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With a Bottle or two
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I do count it no folly.
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