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In short, Dame Truth might safely dub her
Vulgarity enshrin'd in blubber!
He, meagre Bit of Littleness,
All snuff, and musk, and politesse;
So thin, that strip him of his cloathing,
He'd totter on the edge of Nothing!
In case of foe, he well might hide
Snug in the collops of her side.
Ah then what simile will suit?
Spindle leg in great jack-boot?
Pismire crawling in a rut?
Or a spigot in a butt?
Thus I humm'd and ha'd awhile,
When Madam Memory with a smile
Thus twitch'd my ear—"Why sure, I ween,
In London streets thou oft hast seen
