On Lieutenant Shift

Shift, here in town, not meanest amongst squires,
That haunt Pickt-hatch, Marsh-Lambeth, and White-friars,
Keeps himself, with half a man, and defrays
The charge of that state, with this charm, God pays.
By that one spell he lives, eats, drinks, arrays
Himself: his whole revenue is, God pays.
The quarter-day is come; the hostess says,
She must have money: he returns, God pays.
The tailor brings a suit home; he it says,
Looks o'er the bill, likes it: and says, God pays.
He steals to ordinaries; there he plays
At dice his borrow'd money: which, God pays.
Then takes up fresh commodities, for days;
Signs to new bonds; forfeits; and cries, God pays.
That lost, he keeps his chamber, reads essays,
Takes physic, tears the papers: still, God pays.
Or else by water goes, and so to plays;
Calls for his stool, adorns the stage: God pays.
To every cause he meets, this voice he brays:
His only answer is to all, God pays.
Not his poor cockatrice but he betrays
Thus; and for his letchery scores, God pays.
But see! the old bawd hath serv'd him in his trim,
Lent him a pocky whore. — She hath paid him.