 | A Collection of Original Poems |  |
An Answer to the foregoing Epistle.
I am oblig'd this night, dear Sam,
To go with Mercury, and cram
My heron-gut, with Master T---s;
And thank him for his former favours;
But, by to-morrow noon, will hop
To you, and eat a mutton-chop;
Where I could wish to meet Sir Francis,
That rhyming writer of romances;
And with you chat an hour or two,
Then take a sad, and long adieu.
To go with Mercury, and cram
My heron-gut, with Master T---s;
And thank him for his former favours;
But, by to-morrow noon, will hop
To you, and eat a mutton-chop;
89
That rhyming writer of romances;
And with you chat an hour or two,
Then take a sad, and long adieu.
B---ps? a tyrant generation!
Good heav'n, excuse th'exclamation!
But I must rail, for I am undone,
In being forc'd to leave dear London,
And lose so long your chearful tattle;
But sure by letter we may prattle;
And freely talk of all these fellows.
Who strut about in rich prunellas;
And with rank pride and folly stock'd are;—
A hated race to yours, the D---r.
Good heav'n, excuse th'exclamation!
But I must rail, for I am undone,
In being forc'd to leave dear London,
And lose so long your chearful tattle;
But sure by letter we may prattle;
And freely talk of all these fellows.
Who strut about in rich prunellas;
And with rank pride and folly stock'd are;—
A hated race to yours, the D---r.
F. J.
| A Collection of Original Poems | |