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The works of Mr. Thomas Brown

Serious and Comical, In Prose and Verse; In four volumes. The Fourth Edition, Corrected, and much Enlarged from his Originals never before publish'd. With a key to all his Writings

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Jo. Haines's Reformation-Prologue, drest as a deep Mourner.
  
  
  
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153

Jo. Haines's Reformation-Prologue, drest as a deep Mourner.

Thus cloath'd with Shame, which is one step to Grace,
Excuse the modest Blush now spoils my Face;
For, after two Years Excommunication
For heinous Sins against this Congregation,
I'm now to plead my thorough Reformation
Know then, that weary grown of the thin Fare.
Of living by my Wits, that's by the Air;
Altho' kind Patrons
“Into your Bumpers I have oft been plunging,
“And top'd as if a Patent I 'ad for spunging;
“But to proceed in't still, my Conscience stains,
Conscience, the darling Mistress of Jo. Haines.
“Wherefore, tho' late, now finding like a Novice,
Players (like Wits) are Fools, when out of Office;
And seeing Nocturnal Friends drop off so fast,
Like Limerick, I'm compell'd to yield at last.
But oh! the Terms of my Capitulation
Would make the hardest Heart feel soft Compassion;
I must not drink, nor taste Life's common Joys,
For fear of spoiling my melodious Voice;
No more at Midnight visit dear James Long,
Who has the best Navarre e'er tip'd o'er Tongue;
It has all good Qualities,—
A conceal'd Body, fresh, mellow, and fine,
'Tis all Sincerity, a silken Wine;
It charms the Taste, and gratifies the Nose,
Adieu my dear, dear Paradise, the Rose,
Where I the Musick now must hear no morn,
Of a Bottle of Sebastian in the Sun, scare.
Nor whilst God Bacchus is our Cheeks adorning,
Past Three a Clock, and a dark cloudy Morning.
Nor make the last Excuse for longer stay,
More Wine, ye Dog, it's not yet break o' Day:
Now, now, your new Regenerated Player,
Morning and Evening, will trudge to Prayer;
And fly all Play-house Plots that are a brewing,
That National Sin (Sedition) was my Ruin.
 

Weeping.

Spoke like a Drawer.

Like a Watchman.

As one drunk.