But now, dear sir, my beard is grown,
Still I'm a child to thee alone.
Our steward, butler, cook, and all,
You fright, nay e'en the very wall;
You pry, and frown, and growl, and chide,
And scarce will lay the rod aside.
F. Lewis.
TO THE RAMBLER.
SIR,
You seem in all your papers to be an enemy to tyranny, and to look with impartiality upon the world; I shall therefore lay my case before you, and hope by your decision to be set free from unreasonable restraints, and enabled to justify myself against the accusations which spite and peevishness produce against me.