Till the miscreant has roar'd like swine stuck in the snout;
When Lord —— from my windows was making a beck,
I have hurl'd down my sashes, and wounded his neck;
Though my rage could but bruise him black, yellow and blue,
'Twas a hint that might show what the nation should do:
But each knave all the arts of my anger withstood,
For the leeches will suck while the body has blood.
I'd have prophecied much, had I Cerberus' three tongues;
I would fulminate oaths, but, alas! I've no lungs.
When they thought 'twas an earthquake that palsied my walls,