Was top-tails tost over the seat:
Luke Carr had one eye clos’d entire;
And what is a serio-farce,
Poor Robin was cast on the fire,
His breeks torn and burnt off his a—e.
Oh, Robin! what argued thy speeches?
Disaster now makes thee quite mum;
Thy wit could not save the good breeches,
That mencefully cover’d thy bum:
To some slop-shop now thou may go trudging,