Is this your Wit! the Devil take it! For without question he did make it. The truest Wit is Honesty, And to get Coyn your Debts to pay. Wit is an Ass, when Money's slow; Nay, 'tis that makes the Ass to go. Why? I am but a mean Trades-man, And yet do more than any Poet can. I walk the Streets, yet fear no Dun, Nor in their Debts, nor from 'em run. Nor yet for fear of being found out, Do walk half a mile about. Altho' you're in _White-Fryers_ lurking, I've certain Ingeneers a working: And, Sir, unless you quickly pay me, Expect a Visit from a _Baylie_. This Language less dismaid the Poet, Having been long accustom'd to it: Howe're, he thought it not amiss To give him these fair promises. Sweet Sir! I vow I'm mighty sorry You've so long tarry'd for your Mony: But should you my late Suff'rings hear, Pity would force you to forbear. Howe're, as soon as th' Term begin} I shall recruit my self agen; } For my _Play_ will be ready then. } Last Night the _Lord_--read what I'd made on't; And should I tell you what he said on't, 'Twould be immodest in the Author; But you'll hear more of it hereafter. How'ere, to tell you as a Friend, He did it mightily commend. And 'twixt me and you, he said, } He did not question to perswade } The _King_, and _Court_, to see it Play'd.} And if it takes, (which I don't fear) 'Tmay bring an hundred pounds, or near. And for your great Civility, Sir, you're the first I intend to pay. When this Doggrel Speech was ended,} The Poet, having lowly bended, } Took his leave, by me attended. } We had not walk'd past half so far As 'twixt _Fleet-Bridge_ and _Temple-Bar_, Ere my sad Brother was so kind, As thus to let me know his mind.