Heav’n bless that public pile which stands concealing

The Goldsmiths’ front with such a solid veil!

Heav’n bless the Master, and Sir Francis Freeling,

The drags, the nags, the leading or the wheeling,

The whips, the guards, the horns, the coats of scarlet,

The boxes, bags, those evening bells a-pealing!

Heav’n bless, in short, each posting thing, and varlet

That helps a Werter to a sigh from Charlotte.

So felt Lorenzo as he oped the sheet,

Where, first, the darling signature he kiss’d,