An inoffensive Scandal fluttering round,
Too rough to tickle, and too light to wound;
Champain the Courtier drinks, the spleen to chase,
The Colonel burgundy, and port his Grace;
Turtle and 'rrack the city rulers charm,
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Ale and content the labouring peasants warm;
O'er the dull embers happy Colin sits,
Colin, the prince of joke and rural wits;
Whilst the wind whistles through the hollow panes,