So, about twelve at night, the punk
Steals from the cully when he’s drunk:
Nor is contented with a treat,
Without her privilege to cheat:
Nor can I the least difference find,
But that you left no clap behind.
But, jest apart, restore, you capon ye,
My twelve thirteens and sixpence-ha’penny
To eat my meat and drink my medlicot,
And then to give me such a deadly cut —
But ’tis observed, that men in gowns
Are most inclined to plunder crowns.
Could you but change a crown as easy
As you can steal one, how ’twould please ye!
I thought the lady at St. Catherine’s
Knew how to set you better patterns;
For this I will not dine with Agmondisham,
And for his victuals, let a ragman dish ‘em.
Saturday night.