But though in scenes like these Young Sam was nurs’d,
The bonds that cramp’d his youth he proudly burst,
And with ambition fired, and milling glow,
From rolls retreated, and discarded dough;
Cut Rosemary Lane, its sorrows and its joys,
And left dead men to other bakers’ boys!
What though awhile he ran a printing-race
At Charley Baldwin’s crib in Chatham Place?
For though to duty never disinclined,
’Twas Caleb Baldwin’s deeds engrossed his mind;