Sheriffs in custody!—in very quod!
Deep, but still jolly, in their dreadful sin;
Both reg'lar rum 'uns,
Each a noble feller,
And living just as if the House of Commons
Had got a splendid cellar,
And shoved 'em in the Duff and Gordon bin!
How very odd!
A sheriff's officer's the soul of _trap_,
Like pot-house people, always at the _tap_,
Though not a _bar_-gent.
Thanks that no sheriff here was sent to prison
By any _officer_ of his'n
Tapp'd in the time of "tarms:"
But simply handed over to a _sergeant_
At arms!
These are no poets robb'd of attic bliss,
For when did Grub-street feed on grub like this?
Ham, chicken, veal, or tongue
For supper, 'stead of the "Night Thoughts" of Young;
Stilton,
Instead of Milton,
Champagne most sparkling, _eau de vie_ most fiery,
And baskets full of cards of fond inquiry!
J orums of punch, the bowl a very fixture,
A nd made, like snuff, a sort of Prince's mixture;
N o end of wine, and, ergo, no repining,
U seful distinction betwixt wine and whining;
A prison-palace—comfortable, airy,
R ather a safe than dungeon, though terms vary;
Y our sheriffs keep good terms with JANUARY.