“Now as a beggar shedding artful tears,
“Now smiting with his crutch some hapless pate.
“One night I miss’d him at th’ accustom’d place,
“The seven-faced Pillar and his favourite wall:
“Another came, nor yet I saw his face;
“The post, the crossings, were deserted all.
“At last, in dismal cart and sad array,
“Backward up Holborn-hill I saw him mount:
“Here you may read (for you can read, you say)
“His Epitaph in th’ Ord’nary’s Account.”