He scans all sorts of things,
And prays to Providence he may
(His eyes bedimm’d with tears,)
Detect the rogue this very day:
“That I might ring the ears
Of him, the wretch! that plunder’d me,
And brought me to such grief,—
Could I the rascal only see,
’Twould be, O! Lord, relief:
I’d thrust him madly in the muck,