Late, as thro’ Dean Street I pass’d, caught my ear;
’Twas a poor Token Monger, who prudence unbless’d with,
Had receiv’d for presumption, a trimming severe.
He gaz’d on the caution[36] with wonder dumb founded,
His dear self-importance severely was wounded,
At such a long list of opponents confounded:
The tokens he issued, were tokens of woe.
Ah well-a-day! said the poor Token Monger,
My project is scouted, my Mint’s at a stand;
Alas! the sweet hope, I must cherish no longer,