Now we have shuffled off that mortal toil
We cease to pause! Here’s the good Pen
That lessens the calamities of life;
For who will suffer the whips and scorns of time,
The writer’s wrongs, the schoolmaster’s contumely?
The fangs of despised Pens, cause of delays
A nuisance in an office, and the spurns
Which patient merit of Pen unworthy takes,
When he himself can his quietus make
By using Thatcher’s? Who would Gillott’s bear,