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( 11 )

As he does his family at hame,
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.



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."