For, in those days,--thank Heaven they are mended!-- Kings hang'd poor Rogues, while rich ones were befriended. [Illustration] YE CRITICKS, and ye HYPER-CRITICKS!--who Have deign'd (in reading this my story thro') A patient, or impatient, ear to lend me,-- If, as I humbly amble, ye complain I give my Pegasus too loose a rein, 'Tis time to call _my Betters_ to defend me. Come, SWIFT! who made so merry with the Nine; With thy far bolder Muse, Oh, shelter mine! When she is style'd a slattern, and a trollop;-- Force stubborn Gravity to doff his gloom; Point to thy Caelia, and thy Dressing-Room, Thy Nymph at bed-time, and thy fame'd Maw-Wallop! Come, STERNE!--whose prose, with all a Poet's art, Tickles the fancy, while it melts the heart!-- Since at apologies I ne'er was handy,-- Come, while fastidious Readers run me hard, And screen, sly playful wag! a hapless Bard, Behind one volume of thy Tristram Shandy! _Ye Two, alone!_--tho' I could bring a score Of brilliant names, and high examples, more-- Plead for me, when 'tis said I misbehave me! And, ye, _sour Censors_! in your crabbed fits, Who will not let them rescue me as _Wits_, Prithee, as _Parsons_, suffer 'em to save me! [Illustration] THE ELDER BROTHER. CENTRICK, in London noise, and London follies, Proud Covent Garden blooms, in smoky glory; For chairmen, coffee-rooms, piazzas, dollies, Cabbages, and comedians, fame'd in story! On this gay spot, (upon a sober plan,) Dwelt a right regular, and staid, young man;-- Much did he early hours and quiet love; And was entitle'd Mr. Isaac Shove. An Orphan he;--yet rich in expectations, (Which nobody seem'd likely to supplant,) From, that prodigious _bore_ of all relations, A fusty, canting, stiff-rump'd Maiden Aunt: The wealthy Miss Lucretia Cloghorty,-- Who had brought Isaac up, and _own'd_ to forty. Shove on this maiden's Will relied securely; Who vow'd she ne'er would wed, to mar his riches; Full often would she say of men demurely,-- "I can't abide the filthy things in breeches!" He had Apartments up two pair of stairs; On the first floor lodge'd Doctor Crow;-- The Landlord was a torturer of hairs, And made a grand display of wigs, below; From the beau's Brutus, to the parson's grizzle:-- Over the door-way was his name;--'twas Twizzle. Now, you must know, This Doctor Crow Was not of Law, nor Music, nor Divinity;-- He was _obstetrick_;--but, the fact is, He didn't in Lucina's _turnpike_ practise; He took _bye-roads_,--reducing Ladies' shapes, Who had secure'd themselves from leading apes, But kept the reputation of virginity.