OH you, who in all names can tickle the town, Anacreon, Tom Little, Tom Moore, or Tom Brown, -- For hang me if I know of which you may most brag, Your Quarto two-pounds, or your Twopenny Post Bag; But now to my letter -- to yours 't is an answer -- To-morrow be with me, as soon as you can, sir, All ready and dress'd for proceeding to spunge on (According to compact) the wit in the dungeon -- Pray Phoebus at length our political malice May not us lodgings within the same palace! I suppose that to-night you're engaged with some codgers, And for Sotheby's Blues have deserted Sam Rogers; And I, though with cold I have nearly my death got, Must put on my breeches, and wait on the Heathcote. But to-morrow at four, we will both play the Scurra, And you'll be Catullus, the Regent Mamurra. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CLOTHES DO BUT CHEAT AND COZEN US by ROBERT HERRICK TO HESTER [SAVORY] by CHARLES LAMB THE HARLEM DANCER by CLAUDE MCKAY EPIGRAM by DECIMUS MAGNUS AUSONIUS LINES WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |