And clean our causeways, send him boys in shoals.
To see poor Reuben, with his fry beside—
100
Their half-check'd rudeness and his half-scorn'd pride—
Their room, the sty in which th' assembly meet,
In the close lane behind the Northgate-street;
T' observe his vain attempts to keep the peace,
Till tolls the bell, and strife and troubles cease,
Calls for our praise; his labour praise deserves,
But not our pity; Reuben has no nerves.