But now we’re informed by the beak, Mr. Grove
(Whoever could seat on the Bench such a cove?),
That if with strong liquors our tempers get hot,
He’ll send us at once on the treadmill to trot—
That the pastime of wrenching off knockers and bells
Must no longer be practis’d by high-minded swells;
Or he’ll send us, to settle each paltry dispute,
For a month to the treadmill our health to recruit.
O haste, brother pinks, such disgrace to prevent,
Before this vile Bill has the Royal Assent;