Epigram on a Spendthrift and a Hypocrite

Old Pierrot oft complaineth that he's poor,
And poor, the blockhead always ought to be,
He gambles much, his daughter plays the whore,
His wife she drinks until she scarce can see.

Then Perriot, cease to beg and to complain,
Nor let thy self-made mis'ry yearly fall,
Upon thy kind deluded friends again,
If thou had'st mints, old dice wou'd have 'em all.

Is't not enough, that full of trick and sin,
Thou play'st the fool and knave upon the stage,
But must thou try to take compassion in,
By pleading injur'd honesty and age.