And blood-red light,
And dazzling Wheels fit for Enchanters’ waggons.
Thrice lucky woman! doing things that be
With other folks past benefit of parson;
For burning, no Burn’s Justice falls on thee,
Altho’ night after night the public see
Thy Vauxhall palaces all end in Arson!
Sure thou wast never born
Like old Sir Hugh, with water in thy head,
Nor lectur’d night and morn