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Unless toasted cheese, to fill his wame,
At supper appears, tender, and fat,
For him to nibble and tarrow at.—
Good b'ye! I can here no longer stay.
Sist process, till some future box day.
SCENE SIXTH.
Mr Grue, solus.
Than obey that old maid in breeches,
With his envy, spite, and fine speeches;
Such a vain fool, unprincipled ass;
I'd most at this Inn door be a bass,
For the use of servile footmen's feet,
Besmeared with the filth of every street.—
Fine names! "Ewe-necked, staring, Procu'tor,"
Forſooth!—Box, and Interlocutor,
I'll remember for that! The rascal!
Thus to abuse the honest fiscal.—
I think I smell the cheese for supper!
Better, than walk, sit on the crupper;
I hear like chops broiling on the fire!
If the scrub is returned, with his squire,
The cheese mite, with the long punch soker,
The slender tongs, with the straight poker;
I'll try to meet them, as if by chance,
And regale myself at their expence,
Whilst they laugh at the Interlocutor.—
Scoundrel! "Ewe-necked, staring, Procu’tor."
FINIS.
