That sprang at first from yonder noisy inn;
What time the weekly pay was vanish’d all,
And the slow hostess scored the threat’ning wall;
What time they ask’d, their friendly feast to close,
A final cup, and that will make them foes;
When blows ensue that break the arm of toil,
And rustic battle ends the boobies’ broil.
Save when to yonder Hall they bend their way,
Where the grave Justice ends the grievous fray;
He who recites, to keep the poor in awe,