Page:Ratts Rhimed to Death.pdf/59

 {{ppoem|start=follow|end=follow| Yet a High-Shooe with his hands in’s Poke, is his mo{{ls}}t perfect {{ls}}hadow.

<> XXIIII.
 * Soloway with Tobacco,
 * In{{ls}}pired, turn’d State Quacko;

And got more by his feigned zeal, then by his what de’e Lack ho.

<> XXV.
 * But Widdrington how came you there?
 * A wi{{ls}}e man and a true there!

You are an Athana{{ls}}ius among a Knavi{{ls}}h Crew there.

<> XXVI.
 * But Li{{ls}}le is half forgotten,
 * Who oft is over {{ls}}hotten,

For ju{{ls}}t like Harp and Gridiron, his Brains with Law do Cotten.

<> XXVII.
 * Lord Mon{{ls}}on’s next the Bencher,
 * Who waited with a Trencher,

How his tayl is jeck’d at home and abroad, for he’s a feeble Wencher.

<> XXVIII.
 * We hear from Sir John Lenthal,
 * Though this gouty Lord hath {{ls}}pent all,

His Rump’s plac’d wrong, but ’tis his face, that is right fundamentall.

<> XXIX.
 * What Knaves are more to be vext Sirs,
 * You’l here when I {{ls}}ing next S}irs,

}} Rh