Epigram, on a Modern Gentleman

Young Trifle, a fop and a ratling rake, Resolved last summer, a journey to take; He'd travell'd thro' France, and had got into Spain, Took it then in his head, to turn back again, Was met, unexpected, by one in the Strand, Whom he strutted up to, and took by the hand, Ha, ha, said his friend, is it you, my boy Jack? What fortune of war, pray, has driven you back? Plague on you, I thought you at Rome or the Hague. I shou'd have been there, but for war and the plague, So my country I visit, as I wou'd a friend, From whom I wou'd wish to obtain some good end.