Forc'd Absence. 1654

WHat keeps thee, Tom, from visiting thy Friend?
I ghess the cause, & doubt thou canst not mend.
Thou art quite out of Robes, hast no cloaths new,
But what thou vapourd'st with in fifty two.
Thou com'st far short of Horses; they appear
More modish, and their coats cast twice a year.
But one whole week abstain from tempting Ale;
'Twill be apparent by thy little Stale;
'Tis ten to one thy Dad will not deny
Any thing, if thou ask him not to dye.
And that he'll scarcely do, (his Conscience such)
Until thy Trap-stick turn unto a Crutch.
O! that thou hadst a conscientious Father,
Whose Eyes and Beard would kindly out together;
Whose watchful Providence such care would keep,
To die whilst thou hadst Moisture left to weep.
But if he rub on still a few more years,
Rhewm will have spent the Stock of all thy tears,
And Coughs so waste thy breath, all will be gone,
Not any left thee to create a Groan.