Neglected mansion!—for, ’tis said,
Whene’er the snow came feathering down,
Four barbed steeds,—from the Bull’s head,
Carried thy master up to town.
Weak Hoppergollop!—Lords may moan,
Who stake, in London, their estate,
On two, small, rattling, bits of bone;
On little figure, or on great.
Swift whirl the wheels.—He’s gone.—A Rose
Remains behind, whose virgin look,