On Mr. Tho. Killigrew's Return from his Embassie from Venice, and Mr. William Murry's from Scotland.

OUr Resident Tom,
From Venice is come,
And hath left the Statesman behind him;
Talks at the same pitch,
Is as wise, is as rich,
And just where you left him, you find him.

But who says he was not,
A man of much Plot,
May repent that false Accusation;
Having plotted and penn'd
Six plays to attend
The Farce of his Negotiation.

Before you were told
How Satan the old
Came here with a Beard to his middle;
Though he chang'd face and name,
Old Will was the same,
At the noise of a Can and a Fiddle.

These Statesmen you believe
Send straight for the Sheriffe,
For he is one too, or would be;
But he drinks no Wine,
Which is a shrewd sign
That all's not so well as it should be.

These three when they drink,
How little do they think
Of Banishment, Debts, or dying?
Not old with their years,
Nor cold with their fears;
But their angry Stars still defying.

Mirth makes them not mad,
Nor Sobriety sad;
But of that they are seldom in danger:
At Paris, at Rome,
At the Hague they are at home;
The good Fellow is no where a stranger.