My skill there is none will impeach
At grilling a chop or a bone.
The clo’men in Petticoat-Lane
My form with indifference see,
For though making of most things some gain
They cannot make ought out of me.
New trousers! what visions unfold!
I dare not now venture abroad,
For the trousers I’ve on are too holed,
And a new pair I cannot afford.