Will stoop, you’ll say, to wink me from the crowd;
Will entertain me till his lordship’s drest,
With what my lady eats, and how she rests:
How much she gave for such a birth-day gown,
And how she trampt to every shop in town.
Sick at the news, impatient for my lord,
I’m forced to hear, nay smile, at every word.
Tom raps at last,—‘his lordship begs to know
Your name? your business?’—Sir, I’m not a foe;
I come to charm his lordship’s listening ears