PAPA TO HIS HEIR.
A FAST MINOR.
My son, a father's warning heed;
I think my end is nigh:
And then, you dog, you will succeed
Unto my property.
But, seeing you are not, just yet,
Arrived at man's estate,
Before you full possession get,
You'll have a while to wait.
A large allowance I allot
You during that delay;
And I don't recommend you not
To throw it all away.
To such advice you'd ne'er attend;
You won't let prudence rule
Your courses; but, I know, will spend
Your money like a fool.
I do not ask you to eschew
The paths of vice and sin;
You'll do as all young boobies, who
Are left, as you say, tin.
You'll sot, you'll bet; and being green,
At all that's right you'll joke;
Your life will be a constant scene
Of billiards and of smoke.
With bad companions you'll consort,
With creatures vile and base,
Who'll rob you; yours will be, in short,
The puppy's common case.
But oh, my son! although you must
Through this ordeal pass,
You will not be, I hope—I trust—
A wholly senseless ass.
Of course, at prudence you will sneer,
On that theme I won't harp;
Be good, I won't say—that's severe;
But be a little sharp.
All rascally associates shun
To bid you were too much,
But oh! beware, my spooney son
Beware one kind of such.
It asks no penetrative mind
To know these fellows: when
You meet them, you, unless you're blind.
At once discern the men.
The turgid lip, the piggish eye,
The nose in form of hook,
The rings, the pins, you tell them by,
The vulgar flashy look.
Spend every sixpence, if you please,
But do not, I implore,
Oh! do not go, my son, to these
Vultures to borrow more.
Live at a foolish wicked rate,
My hopeful, if you choose,
But don't your means anticipate
Through bill-discounting Jews.
