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Lettered inside image: "57 | Still-streaming thoroughfares of full debauch! | *Trembling each gulp, lest death should snatch the bowl. | Such of our fine ones is the wish refined-- | So would they have it: elegant desire! | Why not invite the bellowing stalls and wilds? | But such examples might their riot awe. | Through want of virtue, that is, want of thought, | Though on bright thought they father all their flights, | To what are they reduced? to love and hate | The same vain world; to censure and espouse | This painted shrew of life, who calls them fool | Each moment of each day; to flatter bad | Through dread of worse; to cling to this rude rock, | Barren, to them, of good, and sharp with ills, | And hourly blacken'd with impending storms, | And infamous for wrecks of human hope-- | Scared at the gloomy gulph that yawns beneath. | Such are their triumphs! such their pangs of joy! | 'Tis time, high time to shift this dismal scene: | This hugg'd, this hideous state what art can cure? | One only, but that one what all may reach, | Virtue--she, wonder-working goddess! charms | That rock to bloom, and tames the painted shrew; | And what will more surprise, LORENZO! gives | To life's sick nauseous iteration, change; | And straitens nature's circle to a line. | Believest thou this, LORENZO? lend an ear, | A patient ear, thou'lt blush to disbelieve. | A languid leaden iteration reigns, | And ever must o'er those whose joys are joys"; lower right: "inv & s | WB"