Before he ventures to conduct his cause,
For you, who traverse up and down this shrine,
And lounge and saunter at your wonted rate,
If in some future chat, with arch design,
Some wag should ask this Pettifogger’s fate;
In sneering mood some brother quill may say,
“I’ve seen him oft at ale-house table sit,
“Brushing with dirty hands, the crumbs away,
“And eye the mutton roasting on the spit.
“There in the snug warm corner of the bench,