And lose we may, in spite of all my weight—
What I shall do, after the poll is o’er
Should be considered now, and ere I go
Must give me pause. There’s Hoy, I fear he’ll cut
The town, if he cut out; and then poor I,
Old, friendless, and the mock of all the mob,
That once stuck fast to him, but ratting now
By hundreds and by thousands from his side,
Will hoot and hiss me in the streets and lanes;
Unable to enjoy my usual walks,