SAMUEL JOHNSON

Call the Betsies, Kates, and Jennies, All the names that banish care ;

Lavish of your grandsire's guineas, Show the spirit of an heir.

All that prey on vice and folly Joy to see their quarry fly:

There the gamester, light and jolly, There the lender, grave and sly.

Wealth, my lad, was made to wander,

Let it wander as it will ; Call the jockey, call the pander,

Bid them come and take their fill.

When the bonny blade carouses, Pockets full, and spirits high

What are acres ? What are houses ? Only dirt, or wet or dry.

Should the guardian friend or mother Tell the woes of wilful waste,

Scorn their counsel, scorn their pother ;- You can hang or drown at last !

��4?i. On the 'Death of Mr. Robert Levet, a Tractiser in Thysk

/^ONDEMN'D to Hope's delusive mine, ^-^ As on we toil from day to day, By sudden blasts or slow decline Our social comforts drop away.

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