The new-made pris’ners o’er their caption swear.
The gentle morning bustle of their trade,
The ’prentice, from the garret overhead,
The dapper shopman, or the busy maid,
Will never here arouse them from their bed.
For them no polish’d Rumfords here shall burn,
Nor wife uxorious ply her evening care;
No children run to lisp their dad’s return,
Or climb his knees, the sugar-plums to share.
Oft did the creditor to their promise yield,