But oh my unfortunate Rokeby;
Who e’er of a parody dream’t,
To bring thee thus into comtempt,
Metamorphosing thee into Jokeby.
When I saw—oh, how great was my passion,
The bills upon Edinburgh wall—
Fit dress for this writer of fashion[41]—
I sent men to cover them all.
Now, gentlemen, as I have hinted,
I wish a new work to be printed—