The stroke gave birth to nature’s child,
A child, like fortune fickle;
So Momus laugh’d, Thalia smil’d,
And out pop’d little Pickle!
When Pickle came to London town,
Plain truth confirm’d this rumour,
A naval duke, of high renown,
Fell in with Pickle’s humour;
For art had lost the pow’r to charm.
Which wakes the passions sleeping,