CHARACTERS FROM
LIFE;

or,

MORAL HINTS.

in verse.

Viz.

By J. PARKERSON, Jun.

Walker, Printer, near the Duke’s Palace.

ADMONITIONS
to the
DISSIPATED.

Excess to mankind oft’times brings,
Remorse with all its bitter stings;
When cares oppress us in this life.
At times we drink to banish strife;
But when its feeble aid is o’er,
We are more wretched then before.
Oft poverty the man disgrace,
And shows a drunkard in his face;
Suppose he is a man of wealth,
Excess of liquor injures health;
Not only health but sad to name,
Such characters the sober blame.
The artful villain tries his skill,
When Bacchus gains us to his will;
At such unguarded times disclose,
What makes our valued friends our foes;
And many an injured wife declares
That Bacchus cause her many tears.
The husband oft to harlots stray,
Whene’er he bears a sovereign’s sway;

And by his aid the thoughtless youth,
Is led from virtues paths and truth:
Oh gentle youth the harlot’s smile,
Is given only to beguile;
Their conversation so impure,
That men of sense them can’t endure;
Be chaste in every thought I pray,
Sweet modesty will gain the day;
Bacchus with her can not contend,
She is to every youth a friend.
Oft do I see a good man’s son,
By harlots ruined and undone;
A tipling farmer oft complain,
Much is too low the price of grain;
He must acknowledge oft he meet,
His wealthy landlord in the street;
On Saturdays his landlord roam,
A few miles from his gaudy home;
To this tho’ ancient pretty city,
To see a play denoted pretty:
Oft in the boxes folks call green,
The tenant with his wife is seen;
His spending money in that way,
Good sense and learning then display;
When farmers hurt themselves is clear,
Is riding home and drunk appear.

Driving their horses at a rate,
As plain foretell they staid too late;
The gig turn’d o’er an arm is broke,
Don’t this his landlord much provoke.
Some neighbour who may want his farm,
Take care the village to alarm;
Informs his neighbours he can’t pay
His tithe till sold both corn and hay;
And to his landlord slyly state,
That ruin’d soon must be his fate;
His neighbour was in liquor found,
Senseless and bleeding on the ground;
On going home he drove so fast,
As if each minute was his last;
He’d broke his gig and spoilt his mare,
This Sir is true I do declare;
What I now state to others name,
And they will tell you just the same;
Sir cried the landlord in a pat,
He knows not what he would be at;
Quickly his mind I will alarm,
For I will turn him out his farm;
To me he’s tenant but at will,
Soon soon he’ll be on Castle-Hill;
I instant will the sot distress,
And others will him sharply press;

Sir cries his neighbour should that be,
I hope you’ll give me liberty;
To offer you a great deal more,
Then ere you let his farm before;
I have two bondsmen at my call,
One lives you know at such a hall;
The other friend is Banker Steady,
They both to serve me Sir are ready!
Sir cries the landlord you keep sober,
And only drink your own October;
I’ll promise what you’ve ask’d of me,
And you my tenant soon shall be;
I’ll send the bailiffs on his place,
And that will bring him to disgrace;
The slanderer says pray sir don’t state,
What I to you this day relate;
No says the landlord, I’ll not say,
What you have told me on this day;
This slanderer I do know well,
And only do the truth now tell;
Most farmers whose estates are large,
Their public duty well discharge;
They live on such a handsome plan,
As note and mark them gentlemen;
I do protest it is great pity,
Some drink so hard when in this city;

As when rattling o’er the stones,
They break a poor old woman’s bones;
Or by his trotting horse knock’d down,
Before he leaves a market town;
I do but state what many view,
And Norwich surgeons know its true.
Good farmers I do much esteem,
And therefore make them oft my theme;
May every farmer when he dine,
Have means to drink a pint of wine.

on viewing the
CATTLE MARKET
on the
castle hill.

The wealthy farmer with a rosy hue,
Weekly attends the hardy scot to view;
The pretty homebred soon his eye detain,
Views and admires, then chat in lively strain;
Of natures produce till his business call
Him from such pleasing sights to pace the hall;
Soon as he sees his merchant at his stand,
He shows the produce of his fertile land;
I’ll give you such a price the merchant say,
A higher bidder you’ll not find this day.

But ere the farmer quits the hill he view,
All other stock to find out something new;
A thought then strikes him as the season’s fine,
I’ll buy a few score sheep before I dine;
Into the pens he hies, the bargain struck,
The jobber takes his cash, wish him good luck.
Prehaps his steed don’t travel to his mind,
Looks at the nags, and do a good one find;
The price he thinks too high, but not refrain,
Making another bid the horse to gain;
The dealer tempted by the offer say,
Sir I’ll comply don’t hurry so away;
Lets take a glass of wine to wish success
To your new purchase—hard the farmer press,
The nag is taken from the stand with glee;
Another takes his place with broken knee,
The buyer says what have you standing here?
A damaged one a tumbling one I fear;
Sir cries the dealer as your land is light,
Take him for plough he’s pretty to the