They left me in the lurch:
Unhappy wretch! for now, I ween,
I’ve nothing left to vent my spleen
But ferula and birch:
And they, alas! yield small relief,
Seem rather to renew my grief,
My wounds bleed all anew:
For every stroke goes to my heart,
And at each lash I feel the smart
Of lash laid on by you.
TO THE REV. DANIEL JACKSON;
TO BE HUMBLY PRESENTED BY MR. SHERIDAN IN PERSON, WITH RESPECT, CARE, AND SPEED.
DEAR DAN,
HERE I return my trust, nor ask,
One penny for remittance;
If I have well perform’d my task,
Pray send me an acquittance.
Too long I bore this weighty pack,
As Hercules the sky;
Now take him you, Dan Atlas, back,
Let me be stander-by.
Not all the witty things you speak
In compass of a day,
Not half the puns you make a week,
Should bribe his longer stay.
