If you wish for a customer, I am your man.
You boast, my “Venetian,”[5] whoe’er may attack you,
You have lordlings and dukes in attendance to back you;
Well, as folks can’t suppose you are telling us fibs,
Pray, are these patricians to fork out the dibs?
I give you my word, Peter Crawley, my crony,
On my part is ready for posting the pony;
How is it, on yours, that your pal, Jemmy Burn,
In spite of your chaffing, keeps dropping astern?