Volume 25 — PAPA TO HIS HEIR.

My son, a father's warning heed; I think my end is nigh: And then, you dog, you will succeed Unto my property.

But, seeing you are not, just yet, Arrived at man's estate, Before you full possession get, You'll have a while to wait.

A large allowance I allot You during that delay; And I don't recommend you not To throw it all away.

To such advice you'd ne'er attend; You won't let prudence rule Your courses; but, I know, will spend Your money like a fool.

I do not ask you to eschew The paths of vice and sin; You'll do as all young boobies, who Are left, as you say, tin.

You'll sot, you'll bet; and being green, At all that's right you'll joke; Your life will be a constant scene Of billiards and of smoke.

With bad companions you'll consort, With creatures vile and base, Who'll rob you; yours will be, in short, The puppy's common case.

But oh, my son! although you must Through this ordeal pass, You will not be, I hope—I trust— A wholly senseless ass.

Of course, at prudence you will sneer, On that theme I won't harp; Be good, I won't say—that's severe; But be a little sharp.

All rascally associates shun To bid you were too much, But oh! beware, my spooney son Beware one kind of such.

It asks no penetrative mind To know these fellows: when You meet them, you, unless you're blind. At once discern the men.

The turgid lip, the piggish eye, The nose in form of hook, The rings, the pins, you tell them by, The vulgar flashy look.

Spend every sixpence, if you please, But do not, I implore, Oh! do not go, my son, to these Vultures to borrow more.

Live at a foolish wicked rate, My hopeful, if you choose, But don't your means anticipate Through bill-discounting Jews.