As a rash girl, who will all hazards run, And be enjoyed, though sure to be undone, Soon as her curiosity is over, Would give the world she could her toy recover, So fares it with our poet; and I"m sent To tell you he already does repent: Would you were all as forward to keep Lent.
Now the deed"s done, the giddy thing has leisure To think o" th" sting, that"s in the tail of pleasure.
Methinks I hear him in consideration: What will the world say? Where"s my reputation?
Now that"s at stake. No, fool, "tis out o" fashion.
If loss of that should follow want of wit, How many undone men were in the pit!
Why that"s some comfort to an author"s fears, If he"s an a.s.s, he will be tryed by"s peers.
But hold, I am exceeding my commission: My business here was humbly to pet.i.tion; But we"re so used to rail on these occasions, I could not help one trial of your patience: For "tis our way, you know, for fear o" th" worst, To be beforehand still, and cry Fool first.
How say you, sparks? How do you stand affected?
I swear, young Bays within is so dejected, "Twould grieve your hearts to see him; shall I call him?
But then you cruel critics would so maul him!
Yet may be you"ll encourage a beginner; But how? Just as the devil does a sinner.
Women and wits are used e"en much at one, You gain your end, and d.a.m.n "em when you"ve done.