}

SHIFT, addreffing himself to fir George.
And what becomes of your poor fervant Shift?
Your father talks of lending me a lift-
A great man's promife, when his turn is ferv'd!
Capons on promifes, would foon be starv'd:
No, on myself alone, I'll now rely :
'Gad I've a thriving traffic in my eye-
Near the mad manfions of Moorfields I'll bawl ;
Friends, fathers, mothers, fifters, fons and all,
Shut up your shops, and liften to my call.
With labor, toil, all fecond means difpenfe,
And live a rent-charge upon providence.
Prick up your ears; a story now I'll tell,
Which once a widow, and her child befell,
I knew the mother, and her daughter well;
Poor, it is true, they were; but never wanted,
For whatsoe'er they af, was always granted:
One fatal day, the matron's truth was try'd,
She wanted meat and drink, and fairly cry❜d.
[Child.] Mother, you cry! [Moth.] Oh, child,
I've got no bread.

}

[Child.] What matters that? Why providence an't

dead!

With reafon good, this truth the child might fay,
For there came in at noon, that very day,
Bread, greens, potatoes, and a leg of mutton,
A better fure, a table ne'er was put on :
Ay, that might be, ye cry, with those poor
But we ne'er had a rafher for the coals.

fouls;

And

And d'ye deserve it? How d'ye spend your days:
In paftimes, prodigality, and plays!

Let's go
fee Foote! ah, Foote's a precious limb!
Old-nick will foon a football make of him!
For foremost rows in fide-boxes you shove,
Think you to meet with fide-boxes above?
Where giggling girls, and powder'd fops may fit,
No, you will all be cram'd into the pit,
And crowd the house for fatan's benefit.
Oh, what you fnivel; well, do fo no more,
Drop, to attone, your money at the door,
And, if I please,-I'll give it to the poor.

}