Classic Poem

Good People, lo! Nine-penniworth of Man
Draw near, and look and laugh not, if you, can.
You, that with Pictures would adorn your Houses
Need buy no more than this, and Mother Louse's.
See here the Bulkie Figure Cap a-pee;
Know, This a Person is of Quantity.
To make him fine, th' Engraver lets him wear
The Gown and Chain he borrow'd the last year
Such gaudy Trappings surely must by force,
Make him look great, and so once did his Horse.
Yet still this vast Coloss, I'le lay my Sowce,
Wants soul enough to animate a Mouse.
As much a Mock't Esquire, 'midst all his Ruff,
As empty Oiter-Barrel to a Muff.
But this is he for whom, for Causes weighty
The Party so much sweated Anno Eighty
Who first cull'd out the men that learn'd with ease
To take plain Oaths, and mean by 'em what they please.
Who in deep Evening can talk next his heart,
Sherwin, his Paunch should have been swoln with Fart,
Whose Chain does truly Tantalize his Maw;
Were every Link a Sausage, how he'd gnaw!
This is the famous Squire, the doughty Wight,
Heav'n send the Nation peace till he's a Knight.