While the rascals around him, revil'd the damp mansion, And my marrow, scorch'd up by the fire's expansion: Which so heated my fibres and bones--I mean wood-- That a putrescent fever polluted my blood; Which settled behind the bed's head of the P----e, And I've not had my health, or my ease, ever since; Yet I'm sure he would grieve, his politeness is such, Had he known that a lady had suffered so much. Thus they swill'd and re-swill'd, and repeated their boozings, Till their shirts became dy'd with purpureal oozings. When the _taster_ sought wine of a primary sort, I have cough'd 'neath the bin, and shook all the old port, Till 'twas muddy as WILL B----CK'S brains--yet each varlet Said 'twas as bright as a ruby, and toasting some harlot, Would then smack his lips, in despite of my labour! Oh, ye Gods! how I wish'd for a fist and a sabre, To cut down the hiccupping roist'rers with glee, That is, if their heads could be injur'd by me. When WELTJE has cook'd for the half famish'd group, How oft have I belch'd pecks of soot in his soup: Yet e'en that could not drive them from board, or from bed, Though 'twas render'd as black as an Ethiop's head: When I've made it as foul as a Scot's ragged tartan, The rogues gulp'd it down, and all swore it was Spartan. When they've sat near the fire, in knee squeezing rows, I have spit out a coal, and demolished their hose: All my grates have breath'd sulphur to stifle their powers; I'd a watch at my side to beat minutes and hours: When I've seen a Blight glide 'twixt the earth and the skies, I've coax'd in the demon, and ruin'd their eyes: I've edg'd down a poker on legs swell'd with gout, Till the miscreant has roar'd like swine stuck in the snout; When Lord---- from my windows was making a beck, I have hurl'd down my sashes, and wounded his neck; Though my rage could but bruise him black, yellow and blue, 'Twas a hint that might show what the nation should do: But each knave all the arts of my anger withstood, For the leeches will suck while the body has blood. I'd have prophecied much, had I Cerberus' three tongues; I would fulminate oaths, but, alas! I've no lungs. When they thought 'twas an earthquake that palsied my walls, It was I who was shudd'ring to witness their brawls. There's no office so dirty but they would fulfil; There's no sense of debasement could alter their will: When the munching of immature codlings might gripe him, They would tear out the leaves of the Psalter to wipe him. Yet these summer fed vermin will fly him, if e'er His wintery fortunes should leave his trunk bare; Then he'll know that but virtue can keep the soul great, As they'd make their past meanness the _cause_ of their hate! I have dropp'd lumps of lime in their glasses while drinking;