When Crowding Folks, With Strange Ill Faces, Were Making Legs, And Begging Places, And Some With Patents, Some With Merit, Tired Out My Good Lord Dorset'S Spirit: Sneaking I Stood Amongst The Crew, Desiring Much To Speak With You. I Waited While The Clock Struck Thrice, And Footman Brought Out Fifty Lies; Till, Patience Vex'D, And Legs Grown Weary, I Thought It Was In Vain To Tarry! But Did Opine It Might Be Better, By Penny-Post To Send A Letter; Now, If You Miss Of This Epistle, I'm Baulk'D Again, And May Go Whistle. My Business, Sir, You'll Quickly Guess, Is To Desire Some Little Place; And Fair Pretensions I Have For'T, Much Need, And Very Small Desert. WheNe'er I Writ To You, I Wanted; I Always Begg'D, You Always Granted. Now, As You Took Me Up When Little, Gave Me My Learning And My Vittle; Ask'D For Me, From My Lord, Things Fitting, Kind As I'd Been Your Own Begetting; Confirm What Formerly You've Given, Nor Leave Me Now At Six And Seven, As Sunderland Has Left Mun Stephen. No Family, That Takes A Whelp When First He Laps, And Scarce Can Yelp, Neglects Or Turns Him Out Of Gate When He's Grown Up To Dog'S Estate: No Parish, If They Once Adopt The Spurious Brats By Strollers Dropp'D, Leave Them, When Grown Up Lusty Fellows, To, The Wide World, That Is, The Gallows: No Thank Them For Their Love, That's Worse, Than If They'd Throttled Them At Nurse. My Uncle, Rest His Soul! When Living, Might Have Contrived Me Ways Of Thriving; Taught Me With Cyder To Replenish My Vats, Or Ebbing Tide Of Rhenish. So When For Hock I Drew Prickt White-Wine, Swear'T Had The Flavour, And Was Right Wine. Or Sent Me With Ten Pounds To Furni- Val'S Inn, To Some Good Rogue Attorney; Where Now, By Forging Deeds, And Cheating, I'd Found Some Handsome Ways Of Getting. All This You Made Me Quit, To Follow That Sneaking Whey-Faced God Apollo; Sent Me Among A Fiddling Crew Of Folks, I'd Never Seen Nor Knew, Calliope, And God Knows Who, To Add No More Invectives To I, You Spoil'D The Youth, To Make A Poet. In Common Justice, Sir, There'S No Man That Makes The Whore, But Keeps The Woman. Amongst All Honest Christian People, Whoe'Er Breaks Limbs, Maintains The Cripple. The Sum Of All I Have To Say, Is, That You'll Put Me In Some Way; And Your Petitioner Shall Pray There'S One Thing More I Had Almost Slipt, But That May Do As Well In Postscript: My Friend Charles Montague'S Preferr'D; Nor Would I Have It Long Observed, That One Mouse Eats, While T'Other Starved.