I've the humanity to hate
A butcher, though he brings me meat;
And, let me tell you, have a nose
(Whatever stinking Fops suppose,)
That under cloth of gold or tissue
Can smell a plaster or an issue.
Your pilf'ring lord, with simple pride,
May wear a picklock at his side;
My master wants no key of state,
For Bounce can keep his house and gate.
When all such dogs have had their days,
As knavish Pams, and fawning Trays;
When pamper'd Cupids, beastly Venis,
And motley, squinting Harlequinis[1],
Shall lick no more their ladies br—,
But die of looseness, claps, or itch;
Fair Thames, from either echoing shore,
Shall hear and dread my manly roar.
See Bounce, like Berecynthia crown'd
With thund'ring offspring all around;
Beneath, beside me, and at top,
A hundred sons, and not one fop!
Before my children set your beef,
Not one true Bounce will be a thief!
Not one without permission feed
(Though some of J—n's hungry breed:)
But, whatsoe'er the father's race,
From me they suck a little grace:
While your fine whelps learn all to steal,
Bred up by hand on chick and veal.
My eldest born resides not far,
Where shines great Strafford's glittering star:
- ↑ Alii legunt Harvequinis.
