This dæmon lately drew in many a guest,
To part with zealous guinny for no feast;
Who, but the most incorrigible fops,
Forever doomed in dismal cells, called shops,
To cheat and damn themselves to get their livings,
Would lay sweet money out in sham thanksgivings?
Sham-plots you may have paid for o'er and o'er,
But who e'er paid for a sham treat before?
In a congratulatory poem on the Whigs entertainment, we have a similar strain of exultation, though, I believe, it is there ironical:
Hollow boys, hollow, hollow once again!