The window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray,
That feebly show'd the state in which he lay.
The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread,
The humid wall with paltry pictures spread;
The game of goose was there exposed to view,
And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew;
The seasons fram'd with listing, found a place,
And Prussia's monarch show'd his lamp black face.
The morn was cold, he views with keen desire
A rusty grate, unconscious of a fire:
An unpaid reckoning on the frieze was scor'd,
And five crack'd teacups dress'd the chimney board
Not with that face, so servile, and so gay,
That welcomes every stranger that can pay;
With sulky eye he smok'd the patient man,
Then pull'd his breeches tight, and thus began:
" Of all the fish that graze beneath the flood,
He only ruminates his former food."
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