Go to church when a charity-sermon is preach'd;
Where, with hands in his pockets and tears in his eyes,
Ev'ry soft-hearted sinner contributes and cries.
I think, if you look in the plate, you'll opine
That the sermon you heard was uncommonly fine,
And that ev'ry Oxonian and ev'ry Cantab
Ought to cultivate early the Gift of the Gab.
But it's after a dinner at Freemasons' Hall
That the orator's talent shines brightest of all;
When his eye becomes glazed and his voice becomes thick,