Here B—rd—tt retires, from his rows to relax,
The scourge of all kings and the king of all quacks.
O come, ye quack scribblers, and patriots by trade;
Come and weep o’er the spot where your member is laid!
When, dreading the Tow’r, he distracted the town,
I fear’d for its safety, I fear’d for my own;
But wanting the aid of this giant detractor,
The press may yet cease its unclean manufacture;
The lightnings of G—rr—w may slumber at length,
And the thunder-toned justice of Ell—nb’r—gh’s strength;