To scrape the scabs from off their tail;
By artful tricks, and well form’d lies,
To skippers or such like, they rise:
And thus get breeches warm to wear,
To hide their a—e that then was bare;
And then set up their crops and talk,
As if they sprung from noble stalk.
At midnight these, and such like sots,
With noddles full, from stinking pots
Of rank geneva, and of rum,