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4

TO T. POOLE

AN INVITATION

Plucking flowers from the Galaxy On the pinions of Abstraction, I did quite forget to ax 'e, Whether you have an objaction, With us to swill 'e and to swell 'e And make a pig-stie of your belly. A lovely limb most dainty Of a ci-devant Mud-raker, I makes bold to acquaint 'e We've trusted to the Baker: And underneath it satis Of the subterrene apple By the erudite 'clep'd taties-- With which, if you'ld wish to grapple, As sure as I'm a sloven, The clock will not strike twice one, When the said dish will be out of the oven, And the dinner will be a nice one.

P.S.

Besides we've got some cabbage. You Jew-dog, if you linger, May the Itch in pomp of scabbage Pop out between each finger.

January, 1797.