University of Virginia Library

[EPISTLE TO MISS CHARLOTTE REYNOLDS]

My dear Lot,
There's a blot!—
This is to write
That Sunday night
By the late
Coach at eight,
We shall get in
To little Britain,—
So have handy
Gin, rum, Brandy
A lobster,—may be—
Cucumbers, they be
Also in season
And within reason—
Porter—by Gum!
Against we come—
In lieu of Friday
Then we keep high day
And holy, as long as
We can. I get strong as
A horse—i.e., pony
Jane tho' keeps boney.
How is your mother,
Still with your brother,
And Marian too—
And that good man too
Call'd your papa, Miss.
After these ah Miss!
Don't say I never
Made an endeavour
To write you verses
Tho' this lay worse is
Than any I've written
The truth is, I've sitten
So long over letters
Addressed to your betters
That—that—that
Some how—
My pen—