The Extravagant YOUTH.
OR, An Emblem of PRODIGALITY.
Tho' he was stout, he can't get out,
in Trouble he'l remain
Young-Men be wise, your Freedom prize,
bad Company refrain.
To the Tune of, King
Iames'sJigg; Or, The Country Farmer.
COme listen a while and I will relate
My sad and most dismal deplorable state,
For now I am in a most woful case,
My running this wild and extravagent race:
When Silks and Sattins did me adorn,
I said that I was most Nobly Born,
Good Counsel I slighted, and held it in scorn,
But now here behold how I stick in the Horn.
I gave my self over to ev'ry Vice,
As Courting, and sporting with Cards and Dice
I thought in my heart it would never be day,
While I was attired in rich array:
With Boon Companions I did Trade,
They counted me a Iocular Blade,
But now all my Glory is clearly decay'd,
And into the Horn my self have betray'd.
I once kept my Gelding abroad to Ride,
My Hat and my feather, and Sword by my side,
As long as my Pocket was lined with Gold,
In pleasure I swam, and abroad I roul'd:
But now no longer can I reign,
In sorrowful note I here do complain,
And stick in the Horn where I still must remain,
And cannot get out if i'de never so fain.
My Father he went in a Thread-bare Coat,
And on his old Angels was wont to dote;
Which he had obtain'd by Vsury,
And now I have spent it as merrily:
I called for Wine like a Hector stout,
My Golden Guinnies did flye about,
I'de Revel and Rant, and i'de keep a fine rout,
But now I am in where I cannot get out.
I never would take any thought or care,
I said that I was my old Fathers Heir,
My Festival Fellows was Roisterous Boys,
We liv'd in delights with a thousand joys:
While we in Splendor did abound,
Methoughts the world went merrily round,
But since friends & fortune together hath frownd
I stick in the Horn, where I still may be found.
My Father gave me all his free-hold Land,
And then at my Courtesie he would stand,
O then thought I, thy Silver shan't rust,
I'le make it to flye like the Summers Dust:
Then did I keep my Prancing Naggs,
Till I had emptied his Golden Bags,
My Silks flourisht like to a Navy of Flags,
But now they are worn and torn to Rags.
I Mortgag'd and sold, and I spent so fast,
The Miser my father was vert at last,
To think that I squander'd away such summs,
He scratcht his ears, and he knawed his thumbs,
His whole Estate was quite decay'd,
By those vile Projects which I have play'd,
Thus I have quite ruin'd the Vsurers trade,
And I in the Horn am a sorrowful Blade.
Now here an Example I must remain,
My freedom I never expect again,
Young Gallants be warned, such ruine shun,
Which has both my father and I undone:
All comforts now from us are flown,
My Father in
Bedlam makes his moan,
And I in the
Counter a Prisoner thrown,
This Horn is a Figure by which it is known.
FINIS.