And no Coffee-house haunts, but to settle his Brain.
He laughs at dry Morals, and never does think,
Unless ’tis to get the best Wenches and Drink.
He dwells in a Tavern, and lies ev’ry where,
And improving his hours, lives an Age in a Tear:
For as Life is uncertain, he loves to make haste;
And thus he lives longest, because he lives fast:
Then a Leap in the dark to the Devil he takes.
What Death can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake’s?
Sir Mer. Why, how now, Sir Morgan, I see you’ll make a Husband of the right Town-Mode: What, married but four Days, and at your separate Apartment already?