And wings the dull Hours with Mirth, Musick and Wine;
Then jogs to the Play-house, and chats with the Masks,
And thence to [the Rose], where he takes his three Flasks.
There, great as a Cæsar, he revels, when drunk,
And [scours] all he meets, as he reels to his Punk;
Then finds the dear Girl in his Arms when he wakes.
What Life can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake’s?
II.
He, like the Great Turk, has his Favourite She;
But the Town’s his Seraglio, and still he lives free.