I told the story of John Lee Wilsons speech for the first

Though sweet, the silver showers between,

The finches sing in strains consoling,

We cut our throats for very spleen,

And very shame of Oxford's bowling!

My Postman, though I fear thy tread,

And tremble as thy foot draws nearer,

'Tis not the Christmas Dun I dread,

MY mortal foe is much severer, -