A grave old gentlemanly kind of Urban,—
The piteous tale of Jeremiah moulded,
And then unfolded,
By way of climax, Mrs. Davy’s turban;
He told how auctioneering Mr. Pidding
Knock’d down a lot without a bidding,—
How Mr. Miles, in fright, had giv’n his mare
The whip she wouldn’t bear,—
At Prospect House, how Doctor Oates, not Titus,
Danc’d like Saint Vitus,—