"A little bob-tailed lord, urchin of state,
A praise-god-bare-bone peer, whom all men hate."
State Poems, Vol. I. p. [148.]
He cast himself into the saint-like mould;
Groaned, sighed, and prayed, while godliness was gain,
The loudest bagpipe of the squeaking train.
But, as 'tis hard to cheat a juggler's eyes,
His open lewdness he could ne'er disguise.—P. [432.]