Classic Poem

AN EPIGRAM.

Tho' Florio revell'd, subtile as a fox,
Thrice in six weeks poor Florio caught a p — x;
The next six weeks brought weeping to his door,
Three pregnant wenches and a brimstone wh — re.
Mad at the sight, and tortur'd with the evil,
He drove the black assembly to the devil.
Well, here his griefs would end? Ah! piteous tale,
Six following weeks beheld him in a Jail;
The next six saw him, ere their time flew by,
Roar, curse, blaspheme, pine, mortify and die.

Blest had'st thou been, O Florio! blest indeed!
Nor yet condemn'd among the common dead,
Had fate with-held (to lengthen out thy days)
Such fierce temptations from thy eager gaze,
And gracious giv'n thee, to escape this trick,
A longer Patience.