Works

I sent a String of Verses to the publick Advertiser yesterday which were better received than they deserved; here they be.

To Town came I a staring Lad
Still swallowing every simple Lye;
While hot and cold and good & bad
Might puzzle wiser folks than I;
In each perplexity remarking
That here at London as at Darking,
People referr'd me still to You,
Dear Mr Woodfalls¹ tell me true.

Will Peace be ever made again,
Have the Commissioners yet spoken?
Or may we credit Your G: N:²
That British Funds will soon be broken?
Will Guilt still haunt this hapless Nation?
Or tremble at Association?
The Folks refer me still to you,
Then do Dear Woodfall tell me true.

Is the King kind as Parsons tell us,
Is the Queen generous mild & good?
Or must we credit those curst Fellows
Who say they both delight in Blood?
Who say She runs to see them tear
The panting Heart from out the Deer;
Since I am still referr'd to you,
Dear Mr Woodfall tell me true.

Will Smelt receive a trifling Pension
For venturing his Bones at York?
Or fails the Court to pay Attention
To those who do its dirty Work?
Will he at least receive Protection
For boldly facing Insurrection?
Both Friends & Foes refer to you,
Dear Mr Woodfall tell us true.

Did Sheridan receive no Billet
Was the Duenna all his own?
Or did he like a Scoundrel steal it,
And palm his Theft upon the Town;
De mortuis nil nisi bonum
So pilfer plots, but never own 'em:
In this too I'm referred to You,
Dear Mr Woodfall tell me true.

Whatever's lost, or Dog, or Wife,
Whoever dies, Spendthrift or Miser;
Each Mortal in the madd'ning Strife,
Runs to the Public Advertiser;
Your Columns all our Hopes support,
Fame, Fashion, Phrenzy, Spleen or Sport,
In Turn alike appeal to You.
Do then dear Woodfall tell us true.

Footnotes

1. Mr Woodfall was the printer of the Public Advertiser.↩︎
2. G:N: was a writer in the Public Advertiser.↩︎