Who bellows about London streets,
whose nose is eternally smelling old hat,
And who mounts ev’ry cow that he meets.
Sign Libra’s the balance that ought to prevail,
In an act we delight to enjoy,
For a feather we’re told will turn nature’s near scale,
When we bob for a girl or a boy;
Aquarius appears as the word doth instruct,
An object, who once was a man,
An Italian castrato’s cut-down aqueduct,