When ev'ry rustic feast I grac'd
And was in highest station plac'd,
Though I did to no name aspire,
Yet I was nam'd the youthful 'Squire,
For Madam Syntax sake was shown
The honour which was not my own.
But now, such was my fortune's change,
A wand'rer I was left to range
I scarce knew where, and doom'd to wait
For what might be my future fate.