O PETER, surely thou deserv'st a whipping, For this thy damnable apostate tripping; Ah! never Royal smiles may'st thou find luck in! Unto Mesdames Poissardes I'd fain consign thee, I'd have them in their fishy arms entwine thee, And purify thee with a river ducking.
Has EDMUND'S logic then entic'd thee Peter, To worship Royalty and change thy metre? Ah worthless wights, both gaping for a pension! O that the Frenchmen would with due regard, Confer upon you some sublime reward, Such as — your necks upon a lamp in tension!
