Page:Tale of three bonnets (NLS104185475).pdf/22

22 While he wad ſhaw his fangs and rage, With bootleſs brangling in his cage. Now follows that we take a peep, At Bawſy, looking like a ſheep, By Briſtle hated and deſpis'd, By Jouk and Roſe as little priz'd. Soon as the horſe had heard his brither, Jouk and Roſe were prick'd the gither, Away he, fcours o'er hight and how, Fou fidging fain, whate'er he dow, Counting what things he now did miſter, That wad be gi'en him by his ſiſter. Like ſhallow bards wha think they flee, Becauſe they live ſax ſtories high, To ſome poor lifeleſs lucubration, Prefix a fleeching dedication, And blythly dream they'll be reſtor'd, To ale-houſe credit, by my lord. Thus Bawfy's mind in plenty row'd, While he thought on his promiſs'd gowd, And baileyſhip, which he with fines, Wad mak like the Weſt-India mines, Arrives, with future greatneſs dizzy, Ca's Where's Meſt Jouk ? Beef.--Meſt Jouk is biſy. Bawſ. My Lady Roſie, is ſhe at leiſure? Beef. No, Sir, my lady's at her pleaſure. Bawſy. I wait for her, or, him, go ſhew.--- Beef. And pray ye, Maſter, wha are you? Bawſy. Upo' my ſaul this porter's ſawſy: Sirrah, go tell my name is Bawſy, Their