Next the scene shifts to town, and there she soars, Till having lost in age the power to kill, She sits all night at cards, and ogles at spadille. } Pray what becomes of mother's nonly son? Why should not I in the great world appear? I soon shall have a thousand pounds a year! No matter what a man may here inherit, In London-'gad, they 've some regard to spirit. I see the horses prancing up the streets, And big Bett Bouncer bobs to all she meets; Then hoiks to jigs and pastimes ev'ry nightNot to the plays-they say it a'n't polite; To Sadler's-Wells perhaps, or operas go, And once by chance, to the roratorio. VOL. II. *This came too late to be spoken. 2 G |