Is breath’d in secret—and with ether blends.
Some unknown Howard, that, with pity smit,
Has oft explor’d Affliction’s sad retreat;
Some poor unhonour’d Nelson here may sit;
Some Burns, that sings and struggles with his fate.
Th’ applause of jolly topers to obtain,
At feasts to crack a bottle with Lord May’r;
To scour the watch along some dirty lane,
And rend with loud huzzas the midnight air,