Turned out as poor as Christ-church rat,
Once more the trade you would be at
Which never yet made lean man fat.
You send your journals far and wide,
And though undone, and though belied;
You choose to take the patriot side.
Your works are in Kentucky found;
And there your politics go round—
And there you trust them many a pound.—
At home, to folks residing near,
You grant a credit, half a year;
And pine, mean while, on cakes and beer.
The time elapsed when friends should pay,
You urge your dun from day to day;
And so you must—and so you may.
One customer begins to fret,
And tells the dunner in a pet,
"Plague take the Printer and his debt:
"Ungrateful man—go hang—go burn—
"I read his paper night and morn,
"And now experience this return!
"Sir! was I not among the first
"Who did my name on paper trust,
"To help this Journalist accursed?
"Thus am I used for having signed:
"But I have spirit, he shall find—
"Ah me! the baseness of mankind!"
Thus, on you strive with constant pain,
The kindest tell you, call again!—
And you their humble dupe remain.