The B⸺ of King’s place, call’d old wicked-eye’d W⸺,
Who lives upon gudgeons, young ling, and crimp’d cod,
When she saw these odd fish, she took hold of their fins, sir,
And stole off, unnotic’d, two dozen and odd;
For the fish-kettle Windsor had long in possession,
In spite of two leaks, as Tars say, fore and aft,
I’m sure ’twou’d have held, (pray excuse my digression)
The whole of Saint Peter’s miraculous draft.
The news of this fish reach’d ⸺, a bishop,
His chaplain, obedient, was posted away,