By Hatchett’s door a knot of coaches wait:
On Greenwich Hill are some smart ankles seen,
Even at the Horns some fearless husbands bait.
For thee, who, mindful of a friendless race,
Dost in these rhymes their little lives define,
If chance, when years have sped their silent pace,
Some kindred spirit shall enquire of thine,
Haply, some gentle dowager may say,—
“Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn,
“Kicking from painted floors the chalk away,