Classic Poem

When the great Cryer in that greater room,
Calls Faunt-le-roy , and Alex-and-er Brome ,
The people wonder (as those heretofore,
When the dumb spake) to hear a Cryer roar.
The kitling crue of Cryers that do stand,
With Eunuches voyces, squeaking on each hand,
Do signifie no more, compar'd to him,
Then Member Allen did to patriot Pim
Those make us laugh, while we do him adore,
Theirs are but pistol, his mouth's Canon bore
Now those fame-thirsty spirits that endevour,
To have their names enlarg'd, and last for ever,
Must be Atturneys of this Court, and so
His voyce shall like fames lowdest trumpet blow
Their names about the World, and make them last,
While we can lend an ear, or he a blast.