“Whoe'er has gone thro' London street, Has seen a butcher gazing at his meat, And how he keeps Gloating upon a sheep's Or bullock's personals, as if his own; How he admires his halves And quarters--and his calves, As if in truth upon his own legs grown.”
“If you were queen of bloaters / And I were king of soles, / The sea we'd wag our fins in. / Nor heed the crooked pins in / The water, dropped by boaters / To catch our heedless joles.”
