“London, with all her passing bells, can tell,
By this right arm what mighty numbers fell.
Whilst others meanly ask’d whole months to slay,
I oft despatch’d the patient in a day.
With pen in hand, I push’d to that degree,
I scarce had left a wretch to give a fee.
Some fell by laudanum, and some by steel,
And death in ambush lay in every pill;
For save, or slay, this privilege we claim,
Though credit suffers, the reward’s the same.”