TO A GENTLEMAN, THAT HAD HIS POCKET PICKT OF A WATCH AND SOME GOLD BY A MISTRESS

by: George Farquhar (1677-1707)

      'M sorry, Sam, thour't such a Ninny
      To Let a Wench rob thee of Guinea,
      And thus to spend and lose your Cobbs,
      By lavish opening both your Fobbs:
      You're fairly fobb'd, to let her get all,
      Both one, and also t'other Mettal.
      Your Work was on a pretty Score,
      You dug the Mine, she found the Oar;
      The Devil take the cunning Whore.
      You slily laid her down to rest her,
      And on the Bed she found a Tester.
      Your Watch too, Sam, (these Men of Power
      Must lye with Doxies by the Hour)
      A Minute's time did that command;
      Then her's, it seems, was Minute Hand.
      She wound you up to her own liking,
      Then stole the Watch, while you were striking:
      Then think not, Sir, that you are undone:
      What's wound so high, must next be run down:
      In revelling time you thought no Sin,
      To play a Game, at In and In.
      I wonder tho' you did not win for't,
      Since that you were so fairly in for't:
      But what destroy'd you in a Trice,
      She held the Box, you shook the Dice:
      The Devil was in the Dice then surely,
      To loose when you plaid so securely,
      And three to one was lay'd so purely.
      But what's the worst of all Mishaps
      You dread, they say, some After-claps:
      If that be so, my dearest Sammy,
      You'll curse, and bid the Devil dam ye:
      The Fruit of Wild Oats which you scatter,
      Is nothing else but Barley-Water:
      The Seed-time's good, you know my meaning,
      But Faith, the Harvest's only gleaning.
      Take Heart howe're, 'tis my desire,
      You will revive, the P--x expire;
      Then rise like Phoenix from the Fire.
      The Mettal's stronger that's well souder'd,
      And Beef keeps sweeter once 'tis powder'd.
      So farewell, Sam, and my you ne're want
      Such a true faithful humble Servant.

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