Thus I have made my shrifted muse confess,
Her secret feebleness, and weaknesses:
All her hid faults she sets exposed to view,
And hopes a gentle confessor in you:
She hopes an easy pardon for her sin,
Since 'tis but what she is not wilful in,
Nor yet has scandalous nor open been.
Try if your ghostly counsel can reclaim
The heedless wanton from her guilt and shame:
At least be not ungenerous to reproach
That wretched frailty which you've helped debauch.
'Tis now high time to end, for fear I grow
More tedious than old doters, when they woo,
Than travelled fops, when far-fetched lies they prate,
Or flattering poets, when they dedicate.
No dull forgiveness I presume to crave,
Nor vainly for my tiresome length ask leave:
Lest I, as often formal coxcombs use,
Prolong that very fault I would excuse:
May this the same kind welcome find with you,
As yours did here, and ever shall; adieu.
Page:Poetical Works of John Oldham.djvu/89
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TO A FRIEND IN TOWN.
79
