Last Thursday, as Sublime and Beauty Was hoofing on to do his duty (This duty is, if one dare mention, But to receive his Quarter's Pension), He met a herd of race most rude Ycleped Swinish Multitude! Of use they were, tho' monstrous mean— With Brooms the dirty Streets made clean; They grinn'd to see BURKE look so trim— As he had them, they spatter'd him: "Good Heaven!" cried MUN, "what shall I do?— This Coat is near as good as new! Too good from Wardrobe yet to spurn it.—" "If so," said I, "suppose you turn it?" Quoth he, with phiz so wise and steady, "TOM FOOL, I've turn'd this Coat already!"
