Classic Poem

As now petitions are in fashion
With the first patriots of the nation;
In spirit high, in pocket low,
We patriots of the Butcher-Row,
Thus, like our betters, ask redress
For high and mighty grievances,
Real, though penn'd in rhyme, as those
Which oft our Journal gives in prose:—
‘Ye rural’ squires, so plump and sleek,
Who study—Jackson, once a week,
While now your hospitable board
With cold sirloin is amply stor'd,
And old October, nutmeg'd nice,
Send us a tankard and a slice!
Ye country parsons, stand our friends,
While now the driving sleet descends!
Give us your antiquated canes,
To help us through the miry lanes;
Or with a rusty grizzle wig
This Christmas deign our pates to rig
Ye noble gem'men of the Gown,
View not our verses with a frown!
But, in return for quick dispatches,
Invite us to your buttery-batches!
Ye too, whose houses are so handy,
For coffee, tea, rum, wine, and brandy,
Pride of fair Oxford's gawdy streets,
You too our strain submissive greets!
Hear Horseman, Spindlow, King, and Harper
The weather sure was never sharper:—
Matron of Matrons, Martha Baggs!
Dram your poor Newsman clad in rags!
Dire mischiefs folks above are brewing,
The nation's—and the Newsman's ruin;—
'Tis yours our sorrows to remove;
And if thus generous ye prove,
For friends so good we're bound to pray
Till—next returns a New-year's Day!’
‘Giv'n at our melancholy cavern,
The cellar of the Sheep's-Head Tavern.’