⎬
⎭
No Spleen or Malice could on them be thrown,
Nature had done the Bus’ness of Lampoon,
And in their Looks their Characters were shewn.
⎫
⎬
⎭
Endeavouring this irksome Sight to baulk,
And a more irksom Noise, their silly Talk;
I silently slunk down to’th Lower Walk.
⎫
⎬
⎭