Classic Poem

I Will not say for the Worlds store,
The World's now drunk, (for did I)
The Faction which now reigns would roare,
But I will swear 'tis giddy.

And all are prone to this same Fit,
That it their Object make,
For every thing runs Round in it,
And no form else will take.

To the Round-Nose Peculiar is
The Ruby and the Rose;
The Round-lip gets away the Kisse,
And that by Favour goes.

The Round-beard for Talke of State,
Carry it at the Club;
The Round-Robin by a like fate
Is Victor in the Tubb.

Hanworths Round-block speak pollicy,
The Round-hose Riches draw.
The Round-heads for the Gospell bee
The Round Copes for the Law.

Tom his Round Garbe so rules all o're,
The pox take him for mee
That e're lookes for square dealing more,
And hears an health to thee.