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 The name of Stitch was such reproach, He rang the bell and call’d his coach, But ere he went, enquiries made. By what means they found out his trade: You put the cap on and it sits, Replied one of the Yorkshire wits, Our words in common acceptation, Could not find out your occupation, ’Twas you yourself gave us the cue, To find out both your trade and you. Vain coxcombs and fantastic beau’. In every place themselves expose; They travel far at vast expense, To shew their wit and want of sense, But take this as a standing rule, “There’s no disguise can screen a fool.”

Ye heroes of the upper form,
 * Who long for whip and reins.

Come listen to a dismal tale,
 * set forth in dismal strains.

Young Johu was a lad of fame,
 * as all the school could tell;

At cricket, taw, and prison bars,
 * he bore away the bell.