I once that was great, Now full little am grown;
	A mimic of multum in parvo.
I'm buried alive in a cloister of stone;
	They say it is what I desarve, O.
In what they have said there is something of truth;
I've been a most wild and extravagant youth;
The hundreds I spent upon Rachel and Ruth
	Have brought me at last into Limbo.

My father, he left me five hundred a year,
	My mother, she left me her jointure;
Then every good acre of mortgage was clear,
	To cross with my gun and my pointer.
But field after field to the market I sent,
My acres I sold, and the money I spent,
My heart upon nothing but revelry bent,
	And that was the high-road to Limbo.

My hall with abundance of old fashioned plate,
	And arras I packed off together,
I dressed myself up in a pageant of state,
	In powdered wig, hat and feather.
With hawks and with hounds and with fine ambling nags,
I rioted round, till I emptied my bags,
My gay coat was turned to contemptible rags,
	Besides I was clapt into Limbo.

I used for to vaunt me as if I could fly,
	Or strut like a crow in a gutter.
The people would cry out, whene'er I went by,
	There goes Master Fopling - a - Flutter!
Like unto topgallant I hoisted my sails,
My rapier, muff-ribbons, wig of two tails;
But then I sat sighing and gnawing my nails,
	Confined to a chamber in Limbo.

And now I am happy, on acres a few,
	With a cow, and a cob in my stable,
An innocent wife, who is loving and true,
	And cherubs surrounding my table.
I owe not a penny, My fortune is small,
Though poverty pinches, it never can gall,
I leave it to others to go to the wall
	And like Jackasses walk into Limbo.