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And let me die as I'm a ſinner,
He had himſelf a good a dinner,
As ever any man was able,
To place upon a Provoſt's table.
And if his pris'ners did not eat,
I'm ſure they need not blame the meat,
And for room rent, as Penny ſaid,
The de'l a farthing e'er they paid,
Until his tenants were to flit,
And then he ſhook his noſe for it.
No captain ever bore command.
On war-ſhip board, or on dry land,
More abſolute than this our hero,
⟨Is⟩ here atteſted by Claudero.
Claudero to Mr. William Peter Taylor.
GOOD Mr. Stitch, if 'tis your pleaſure,
To come and take of me the meaſure;
⟨I⟩ will confeſs the obligation,
And cringe unto a taylor's ſtation.
⟨I⟩ can no more go decent out,
My coat is ſuch an arrant clout,
And am now ſuch a naked lown,
That I out-do the fam'd Tom Brown,
Fly to my aid,--your art come ſhow it,
Mount like a prince a naked poet
Beſides good Mr. William Peter,
Shall not be paid with ſcraps of metre;
But I'll reward your gen'rous toil,
With what will make your pot to boil.
Tho' Satan ſhould piſs in the fire,
Caſh will conjure him to retire.
An Epifle, on reading the Critical Review for August 1765.
MUCH injur'd bard, forgive a recent age,
