My own dear Nickleby Nod,
This venomous mutual abusing.
Thersites seems ranked as a god.
Billingsgate sways our big swells,
Talent plays Brummagem Cad.
'Tis worse than Sarcasm of Sadler's Wells.
You're mild—and your House is mad!
More is to come in the Autumn,
My own poor Nickleby Nod!
We trust by that time you'll have taught 'em