Page:A genuine epistle written some time since to the late famous Mother Lodge.pdf/8

 And fan me while I leep, or dine; No Indian Queen was half o fine!


 * , alas! too great to lat!

My udden Grandeur quickly pat: My Keeper dies! I too mut fall! They hip'd me off, and eiz'd on all, Landing me poor (relentles Heirs!) With little left at Tower-Stairs.


 * again! what could be done,

My Hopes at ebb, my Beauty gone?


 * Wapping I retir'd, and ply'd

Behind a Bar on Thames&apos;s Side, And with my mall Remains eay'd To drive a canty, pedling Trade, Rum, Brandy, Punch, a Wapping Queen, Meauring out to Sailors keen.

till; but fat wuth Eae, and Ale, Known by Black SARAH sf the Whale, Belov'd