Methinks I see old WINGATE frowning here,
(WINGATE may in the season be a Peer,
Tho' now, against his will, of figures sick,
He's forc'd to diet on
E'en whilst he envies ev'ry Jew he meets,
Who cries old Cloaths to sell about the streets)
Methinks (his mind with future honours big,
His  Bob turn'd to a dress'd Bag Wig)
I hear him cry — What doth this jargon mean?
Was ever such a damn'd dull Blockhead seen?
Disdain
Hath got into, and turn'd the fellow's brain;
To  with him — give him whips and straw —
I'm very sensible he's mad in Law.
A saucy Groom who trades in Reason, thus
To set himself upon a  with us;
If this  suffer'd, and if that  fool
May when he pleases send us all to school,
then our only business is outright
To take our caps, and bid the World good night.
I've kept a  myself  twenty years,
But nothing of this kind in him appears.
He, like a thorough true-bred Spaniel, licks
The hand which cuffs him, and the foot which kicks,
He fetches, and he carries, blacks my shoes,
Nor thinks it a discredit to his Muse,
A Creature of the right Camelion hue,
He wears my colours, yellow or true Blue,
Just as I wear them; 'tis all one to him,
Whether I change thro' conscience, or thro' whim.
Now this is something like, on such a plan
A  may find a friend in a great Man;
But this proud Coxcomb — Zounds, I thought that All
Of this queer tribe had been like my  PAUL.