Classic Poem

This practice all mankind pursue,
To spurn the old, and catch the new;
'Tis thus I cast you far away,
Who warm'd me many a chilly day;
Who kept me from the wind, and weather,
While all your parts were stitch'd together;
But now when threadbare, thin, and tatter'd,
I take a stranger, with pride flatter'd.
But tho' I cast you off like lumber,
Your fame shall chime in jingling number;
The Muse in triumph shall adore you,
And lay all honours down before you;
Inscribe you in poetic page,
As trophies of her infant age;
Perhaps may place you on Parnassus,
With Phaebus, and his jilting lasses;
Or, in a freak, may metamorphose,
Into a Star his broken S MALL-CLOTHES .
The thighs shall be like horns before us,
The seat a head — and there's a Taurus!
Then each wise astrologic fool
Will tell, " He's spy'd a Second B ULL ! "
Then you shall cause such learned speeches —
I think that's honour for a B REECHES !
Beside, this is a comfort too,
Each ruling wife shall wish for you;
Shall idolize you in such wonder,
That she may keep her Goodman under! —
Well then, my friends! you need not grumble,
Tho' Me you cover'd, very humble;
For now Iv'e giv'n a recompence,
To any Clothes of wit or sense. —
You shall not deck a sable seat
Of most rag-ific Plunket-Street;
But be of an immortal birth,
Presiding o'er all rags on earth.