 | May Fair |  |
For me, whose multitude of sins
Is always friendly to the ins;
Whose eloquence by instinct spouts
Against those criminals the outs—
A patriot, Burdett to the bone,
Resolved to call my soul my own;
A loftier specimen of Brutus,
I hate to live in medio tutus,
Long with a pension to be tried,
And trample on the falling side.
Is always friendly to the ins;
Whose eloquence by instinct spouts
Against those criminals the outs—
A patriot, Burdett to the bone,
Resolved to call my soul my own;
A loftier specimen of Brutus,
I hate to live in medio tutus,
Long with a pension to be tried,
And trample on the falling side.
| May Fair | |