Classic Poem

Assist me Muse, whilst I relate,
Th' Occurrence of a Morning's Date.
Strolling to view the public Way,
Where toiling Lab'rers sweat out Day,
A Butcher, tho' of greasy Note,
With courteous Freedom I bespoke;
Prating a-while on this and that,
Fine Weather, or such common Chat,
We saw (no Marvel to behold)
Advancing, dress'd in Green and Gold,
A stately Hero passing by,
When thus Sir Cleaver roars on high:
" That's S AMPSON , who with active Pow'r,
At Islington each Night an Hour
Regales the Public with his Feats
Of Horsemanship; nay some say beats
E'en Price himself " — I stop'd him short,
Friend, you're deceiv'd, take my Word for't;
'Tis not the Person that you name.
" I'm certain 'tis the very same. "
Thus brav'd, and by a calfish Pate,
Tho' Gaming is a Vice I hate,
I'll hold you ten to five, says I,
That 'tis not S AMPSON passing by.
Done, his reply; away I flew,
And brought the Hero to his View;
Who honestly declar'd that H E
Was W ALTON call'd; this set me free,
And gave me ample Right to claim
Five Pieces of the Butcher's Dame;
She keeps the Dust , I'd have you know,
For Highgate Custom wills it so:
In fine, 'twas paid, nor think me mean,
Or lightly of my Subject deem;
Dice levels ALL to equal State,
The Butcher's Gold is royal Weight .