Yet so it is — ; tho some look
They're thieves alike; and all have robb'd poor Tim.
Now since the partial Law no man relieves
Against these Pyrates, tho' the worst of Thieves.
Tim weeping takes his Room; resolv'd to sue.
And in's own Court, be Judge, and Witness too.
First Preston's Stuart heads the pilfring Troop.
His Bro of London stands the next ith'Group.
Which is better man, or whether's worse
There's none can tell me — ; but secure your Purse.
As for the first, cou'd Higginson but tell ;
Or Peygy blazen what she knows too well.
Mankind wou'd shun him; converse they'd refrain,
And brand his forehead for a second Cain.
Mark brazen'd Finch of Wigan how he stands
With Bandyhewit in his pilfring hands;
This man damn'd Stuart as a Rogue in Chief.
Then hastens home — and dubs himself a Thief.
See Hitch and Haws, two men of great
by pilf'ring thrive like Caledonian Bute;
Nor do they care from whom, or how it comes;
These rob for trifles, that for mightly sums.
Then Bankrupt Scolfield, Middlewich's
Wou'd thrive like Hitch; grow high as Haws, or
But he, like Phaeton, fell heels o'er head,
And lyes ith' Cave of Poverty, for dead.
Next dirty Eyres of Warrington appears
He fears no Hemp — nor trembles for his
In bugger-mugger lives Wizzard black
Carring poor Tim, and Meary on his Back.
This makes him grunt — and Tom's stiff bridle
Which suits them all, as well as nibbling Eyres.
Last northern Smith chas'd from the Lowland
For B—r—ry, and s—l—ng
Geese and Hens
Comes fidging on — scratching his Yuky arm,
In robbing Sootherons swears, there is no harm :
Sets up in Halifax, Pyrates his Books.
Dress'd up in Edinburh, and Glascow Cooks :
And like your Chimney-sweep doth never blush
But Pyrates on, nor values Hemp a Rush :
And in his Once, twice, thrice : its just a going ;
Prefers a Sixpence to a man's undoing :
Yet still this Saint oth' Kirk with Leeks demure.
Lets fly his Geld for private Room and W——e.
Now if the Pythagorean System's true,
The time may come that we these Rogues may view ;
Some as Chaise Horses sweating in bad roads
Whipp'd hard by Authors, and pick'd on by Goads :
Some as Scotch Pedlars with great heavy Packs
Of beggar'd Poets riding on their backs :
Others in cunning pilf'ring Foxes Fuers,
Hunted by Writers in the shape of Curs.
All these eight Saints for Tim may make a Float,
Waft him o'er Styx, and cheat old Charon's boat ;
And when on shore bear him on Palaquins
In sweat and toil to balance former sins.