Watch well your foot-steps. Should you stray,
Perhaps you'll never find the way.

The man to worthy acts inclin'd
Finds a true pleasure in his mind.
If good alone, not injury does,
What can disturb his sweet repose?
Then all is mild within his breast--
Himself enjoys--enjoys his rest.

Far diff'rent thoughts to him belong,
The tenor of whose acts are wrong;
For going on from sin to sin
Stirs a rude monitor within,
Whose face display'd, such horrors shone,
Enough to make him hide his own.
Himself he hates, nay, all despise;
Without regret a beggar dies.

Bolders shall on the stage be led,
He'll prove exactly what I've said.
A youth discreet; benign his look,
Did well whate'er he undertook;
Mov'd gracefully the frame, 'tis said,
In weaving stockings for his bread.
His conduct harmless; bright his thought;
Fluent his words; his friendship sought.
What he perform'd was sure to shine:
Who would not envy such a line?
Or who that had it e'er would break it?
This he might sooner do than make it.

A youth like this, we're apt to guess,
Could scarcely miss of happiness.
The main of bliss he'd surely won;
Nay, hold my friend, I've not yet done;
For if by chance he wins the main,
By chance may lose it back again.

If the imprudent builder shou'd
Put bad materials to the good,
These bad will quickly ruin all;
His sumptuous building soon must fall:
This was John Bolders's defeat,
Who rais'd a character compleat,
But mixing actions not the best,
Moulder'd to nothing all the rest.

Love for one sex we count their due,
But Bolders had a love for two;
Hence it appears, without a joke,
He'd twice the love of other folk.
For women he esteem'd: what then?
He equally esteem'd the men.

Passions, like powerful waves, will slow,
And toss the vessel to and fro.
The pilot must himself command,
And guide her with a steady hand,
Or else she may, by being tost,
Soon in the surly deep be lost.
John, quite forgetting helm and deck,
His reputation went to wreck.

Amours of every kind, we know,
Behold the sun a deadly foe:
The best will scarcely bear the light,
But some may be as black as night.
Yet though they are in secret done
Are sometimes dragg'd before the sun.
The simple tale may raise offence,
And raise the blush of innocence;
But horrid will the guilty feel,
Except he's made of harden'd steel.

John from his happiness was hurl'd;
His actions blaz'd before the world:
Nay, when alone he did not lack
To view himself, and then start back,
Asham'dto see the face of day,
His fortune dwindled quite away.
Of one resource he could not fail,
Which was, to drown his cares in ale;
But this resource will seldom miss
To change for rags substantial bliss.
A large J.B. led many a score
Of white upon the ale-house door;
And though his creditors he shuns,
Is daily hunted down by duns.
His friends, who with a smile would greet,
Now, to avoid him, cross the street.
His money gone, and fair renown,
He could not stay in Derby town.
When character away we chase,
The carcase is not worth a place.

To Ashby-de-la Zouch he came,
In quest of male or female game;
For, as both sexes were his prey,
He could not easily lose his way.

Here one among the frisky dames
In Ashby kept a shop of frames;
Bolders stept in, ' and took his stand
Upon the widow's jointure land.'

Now fortune seem'd to promise fair,
'She'd instantly reduce his care.'
Our ills are all on fortune thrown.
We quite forget they are our own.

I think we said, nor is it long,
That Bolders had a silver tongue.
But if he had, it is confess'd
'Twas all the silver he possess'd. .
For what he got, or what could borrow,
Were melted down to cure his sorrow.

His person, which appear'd to view,
We must allow, was handsome too.
His carriage met with approbation,
By far more polish'd than his station.

As to his dress, time might derange it;
Nor was he ever prone to change it.
While others Sunday-garments seek,
He wore the same quite round the week.
And why he did not change his dress,
He'd reasons good, we shrewdly guess.
If you suppose a filth contracts
By keeping clothes upon our backs,
'Which will offend the nose,' you say,
Why then the nose may keep away.

More holes he had, you'd eas'ly scan,
Than suited with a handsome man;
And yet, we argue, on the whole,
That there's some honour in a hole.
For slits in garments are no more
Than many of our Princes wore.
And 'twill, you know, an honour bring,
If we can imitate a king.
For this old fashion, we confess,
Was deem'd the grandest stile of dress.
And no great diff'rence appears
If made by time or by the shears.

Bolders besieg'd the widow's heart,
And nobly won a little part;
But not one half would she let go;
No, 'twas about a third or so.

''Twould not be long before he married,
For he had all the out-works carried.'
Nay, there are folks won't stick to tell
He'd really won the citadel.
But I'll the Muse in silence lay,
Nor female weakness e'er betray;
For, were all secrets brought to light,
'Twould be a most amazing sight.

Of perseverance he'd no lack
But madam hung a little back.
He press'd his suit with all his might,
For he alone would profit by 't.
His sentiments went steady on,
But hers were rather pro and con.

The human mind he fully knew;
He'd try what one bold push would do.
Nor was he charg'd in any case
With losing by a bashful face.
This maxim he had always ready,
'Faint heart can never win fair lady.'

On Sunday morning, to look big,
He borrow'd a great coat and wig.
A shilling too, as a third boon;
That was, because himself had none.
Furnish'd with dress and motley too,
To Ashby church that instant flew.
His figure in the Clerk's pew roars,
Just while the priest was reading prayers;
And, while the grotesque figure stands,
Offers the shilling and the banns.

The Clerk, surpriz'd at such a deed,
Ask'd Bolders 'if he must proceed
Because the bride--her daughter too,
Attended in their usual pew;
And 'twas a circumstance uncommon,
For any well-dress'd modest woman
T'assemble among pious souls
And hear herself call'd o'er the coals.'

John whisper'd, with a gentle frown,
'Do as you're bid.' They both sat down.
The people now withdrew their looks,
And fix'd them on their prayers and books.
Some holy folks the inside minding,
And some eyed Bolders and the binding;
And every soul, as if by chance,
Threw at him now and then a glance.

The Parson read; they did the same;
Th' important moment quickly came:
'The holy banns of wedlock I
Publish before the Church's eye,
Between John Bolders'--Parson cries--
I'll place a dash--before your eyes;
For secrecy most dear I hold;
Her name, by me, shall not be told;
For, though the congregation knew,
That's no just ground for telling you.
Because my verses may be read
When the whole congregation's dead.

The widow rose up with a blush,
While Priest and People all were hush;
'Banns I forbid,' the fair one cried,
'Both in this church and all beside.'

Bolders with disappointment burn'd;
He saw the wind against him turn'd;
But was determin'd to pursue
While he'd the smallest chance in view;
For why should he the business close?
He'd nothing of his own to lose.

Rising, the antiquated beau--
'And will you then deny me so?'
'Yes!' cries the dame--all eyes upon her,
While prun'd for flying sat her honor--
'Then, before God, I now declare,
And this whole church, assembled here,
The dread tribunal we're before,
That thou, false woman, art my whore!'

O vile imprudence on his side!
Confusion seiz'd th'intended bride.
What female could refrain from crying,
Her china, or her honour, flying?

The little daughter, in vexation
To hear the mother's accusation,
Started in haste to make reply,
The flashes kindling in her eye:
'You tell a story then, I'm sure,
I know my mamma's not a whore.'

The people star'd, like people wild;
The Parson clos'd his book, and smil'd;
For by this love-scene on the spot
All their devotion was forgot.

Bolders sneak'd off, t' avoid a fray;
The place was much too hot to stay.
Then to decamp he did not fail,
And leave me to record the tale.