Classic Poem

Address'd to a Friend in Wales , wrote at B ATH .

Resolv'd, at all Events, to quit
The Clamour of a Town Cock-pit,
Here I arriv'd last Tuesday Night,
Just in the Nick of Wrong — or Right;
We've strange Commotions in this State,
Wars, horrid Wars, 'mongst little Great;
A lawless Band of Rioteers,
Have set the Circle by the Ears,
On fell Design, or more or less,
(Which they've avow'd from thund'ring Press)
Than to depose from regal State,
King D ERRICK , with their baneful Hate.
I'm neutral yet — not that I fear,
I'd speak my Mind tho' H — was here:
And yet I say with Jack — Avast,
They stumble oft who run too fast;
Shou'd I resolve, I'll put in Steep,
These Rioteers, in Pickle deep,
Doubt not the Winter through they'll keep:
That I've the Art to cure well,
Let Scoundrells P — — T , B — — L tell.
The urgent Post here stops my Lay,
Or I shou'd scribble out the Day;
Farewell — present my best Respects,
And candidly excuse Defects.