Arrears. 1679

TO you I have such Rents to pay;
In Policy I should not stay;
If from my felf I knew to run away.

Your Cottage tho is in repair;
The inward Rooms well furnisht are;
The Windows glaz'd, and Roof new thatcht with Hair.

Your Tenant clad in Scarlet Vest,
Carouzing Clarret of the best
Within the Lodging-Chamber of my Breast.

High fares he with no ill intent;
For if he starve,—You lose your Rent;
Since none, but he, can farm the Tenement.

My hopes of thriving are decay'd;
Wire-drawing Wit in Rhyme's my Trade;
And I no store of Bullion have for aid.

Small stocks in Country trades may do;
Ev'n Pedlers there deserve a view:
As little Gold beat thin will make a shew.

A smutty Fancy, or bald Iest,
Profaneness in Hobb's Livery drest,
Serve for a Session's charge, or Churching-Feast.

This will not do in London-Town;
Not trusting without Money down:
Hence are their very Lawreats Bankrupts grown.

Nor strange; Times so expensive are:
The Tripos once requir'd less care
To manage well, than now a Barbar's Chair.

To woo a Lady 'till she's fit,
Needs now more cost of Plot and Wit,
Than formerly to wed, and Children get.

Sack's influence once inspir'd the brain:
'Tis well if now it can maintain
Fit Reparties for th' Drawers witty Vein.

The Coffe-houses now admit
More Criticks, than the very Pit;
As prodigal of Treason, as of Wit.

Besides all these expensive ways;
I lavisht out, and writ two Playes;
Catching at Hope, I nothing got but Bayes.

Into the Country quite undone,
My Muse and I, both Bankrupts, run:
Like wandring Luther, with his bare-foot Nun.