With awful sounds, the hour of eating tell!
O’er thee, oh Coe! their dreadful notes they wave,
Soon shall such sounds proclaim thy yawning grave;
Vocal in vain, through all this lingering day,
The grace already said, the plates all swept away.
“Cold is Beau**** tongue,
That soothed each virgin’s pain;
Bright perfumed M** has cropp’d his head:
Almacks, you moan in vain!
Each youth whose high toupee