The Blood

YE learn'd of the Age,
Each Artist, each Sage,
Ye Speakers at fam'd Robinhood,
Describe, or decline,
Or derive, or define,
What the Character is of a Blood?

Macaronies so neat,
Pert Jemmies so sweet,
With all their effeminate brood;
Free-Masons so shy,
Choice Spirits so high,
Are kick'd out of doors by a Blood.

If making a Bet,
Or if taking a Whet,
Or if beating the Rounds he thinks good,
Who dare to oppose,
Will be pluck'd by the Nose,
With a—Dam'me Sir, a'n't I a Blood?

If the Constable queer,
And the Watch shou'd appear,
His Riots to quell, if they cou'd,
Without compliment,
Out of Window they're sent,
And that is fine fun for a Blood.

He laughs at Old Nick,
Calls Religion a trick,
And his Argument can't be withstood;
'Tis a Bett or an Oath,
But most commonly both,
As to Reason,—What's that to a Blood?

As we have but our Day,
Even Bloods must decay,
He wou'd keep it up still if he cou'd;
But his Manors foreclos'd,
And his Honour expos'd,
He must dye as he liv'd—like a Blood.

To retrench wou'd be base,
To repent a Disgrace,
So he acts just as Geniusses shou'd;
By a Med'cine of Lead,
Warm apply'd to his Head,
He cures the Disease of a Blood.