His Nose plainly proves,
What pottage he loves.
Hear one of their reflections upon him, on his humble thanks, for his Majesties Declaration for Liberty of Confidence.
When first the Hawkers bawl'd 'ith' streets Wild's name,
A lickerish longing to my Pallat came;
A feast of Wit I look't for, but, alass!
The meat smelt strong, and too much Sawce there was, &c.
Indeed his strain, had it been fitted to a right key, might have equal'd the chiefest of his age.