And all his cry, &c.
Did want, or merit claim a friend,
He knew to serve, to give, or lend;
But out of cash and out of place,
His former friends forget his face!
Like the poor Starling in his cage,
Lonesome he sits and vents his rage;
And all his cry, &c.
No more the sun’s all chearing ray,
Ope’s to his view the blush of day;