None but the fat deserves the fair.
Jack Fogo, placed on high
Amid the tuneful quire,
Touch’d with his fives the laureate lyre;
The sounds discordant reach’d the sky,
And set their souls on fire.
Of law he curs’d the rod
That sent fat Josh to quod.
And swore it was too bad, by G——!
But now at length from durance vile releas’d,