SONNETS FOR THE FANCY: AFTER THE MANNER OF PETRARCH [Notes]
[_c._ 1824]

[From _Boxiana_, iii. 621. 622].


_Education._

A link-boy once, Dick Hellfinch stood the grin,
At Charing Cross he long his toil apply'd;
"Here light, here light! your honours for a win," [1]
To every cull and drab he loudly cried. [2]
In Leicester Fields, as most the story know,
"Come black your worship for a single mag," [3]
And while he shin'd his Nelly suck'd the bag, [4]
And thus they sometimes stagg'd a precious go. [5]
In Smithfield, too, where graziers' flats resort,
He loiter'd there to take in men of cash,
With cards and dice was up to ev'ry sport,
And at Saltpetre Bank would cut a dash;
A very knowing rig in ev'ry gang, [6]
Dick Hellfinch was the pick of all the slang. [7]

_Progress._

His Nell sat on Newgate steps, and scratch'd her poll,
Her eyes suffus'd with tears, and bung'd with gin;
The Session's sentence wrung her to the soul,
Nor could she lounge the gag to shule a win;