More precious than silver and gold—
It added M. P. to my name.
Ye Stokers who made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial, endearing report,
Ere the public shall vote me a bore.
The bar, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me?
O! tell me I yet have a friend,
Though but One in the lobby I see.