Classic Poem

Where Creditors their bankrupt debtors stow
Where men for want of coin to durance go
& are for being wretched made more so
Where poor W---G---could months abide
When all his creditt would not him provide
with one nights lodging any where beside
there on a bed by moths half eat away
Damon ye witt ye generous ye gay
the heir of Eighteen hundred sterling lay
Sullen with grief impatient to endure
& yet oppressd with what he could not cure
Long did his thoughts upon his Sorrows dwell
then they on generall reflections fell
for still the mind by private ills aggrievd
Is by the thought of common ills relieved
this soths ye spleen while that creates dispair
One you ingross in 'tother others share

Alass he crys how many have I known
by giddy pleasures & ymselves undon
We hunt for happiness on eager speed
& have a chance that we may all succeed
reason & passion draw ye diffrent views
& we're all blessd according as we chuse
but to our reason seldom we attend
tho' all our hopes upon that choice depend
see ye degrees thou heedless creature man
by which the passions on ye mind obtain
as in ye pretty Gentleman suppose
for instance how in him yr empire grows
up from his swadling to his beauish clothes

Scarce can his tongue in tripping accents rove
but the nurse lulls him wth wild tales of love
Where a kings son as many such have been
dyes for ye youngest daughter of a queen
these mold his temper till he learns to read
& then romantick authors fill his head
Where honour in enamelld armour bleeds
for love thats errant on ye milk white steed
how his eyes dance when magick Castles fly
When beautyes freed how pants his heart for Joy
how much what ere he reads he longs to try
When he can Nature more distinctly see
he finds such things as these coud never be
Yet still the prejudice is on his Soul
& love & honour must his actions rule
then that he may their due proportions trace
playes following nature he will follow playes
at these he dresses talkes fightes loves from these
he railes at buisness wch he does not know
because ye poett who had none did so
In wine & whores & games his guinnys run
because the like in such a part is don
thats drawn with art to please ye lookers on
to repeat verse & with a grace be leud
is gay is Dorimant & must be good
But when his fullgrown witt a figure makes
Without a guide agreably he rakes
Nor the stage longer for a pattern takes
himself a mode a man of airs a beau
Nay poet too—as far as songs will go
thus with a world of pains the work is past
& he's an entertaining fool at last
he does the men of buisness pitty move
the men of Moralls soberly reprove
the tradesmen cheat him—but the Ladies love.

As on this head he woud have spoken more
the Jailour happend to unlock the door
to lett him know his creditors did wait
to make him sell if he woud freedom gett
At least three quarters of his whole estate