Sangrado's Expedition to Sylvania

Tir'd of his journey o'er a sandy waste,
Sangrado to Sylvania came at last:
A bear-skin coat was round his carcase roll'd,
Shivering with northern winds, that blew so cold:
Dark was the night--much for his shins he fear'd,
For not one lamp in all the town appear'd,
Twelve was the hour--the citizens, in bed,
Slept sound--of bears and wolves no more in dread;

No city-guards, no watchmen hove in sight,
No chyming bell sung out the time of night;
But foggy blasts their wintry music blew
Through shabby trees that round the court-house grew;
At length, alighting at one scurvy dome,
He knock'd--and hop'd the people were at home.--

Ho!--(cry'd the man within) ho! who are you?--
What! heigh!--from Cambria?--have you nothing new?--

Sangrado

Nothing at all--the times are shameful bad;
Money at ten per cent--hard to be had:
With apples and potatoes, our dear cousins
The northern men, are pouring in by dozens:
The French, 'tis said, will soon discharge their king--
This, friend, is all I know--and all I bring--

Citizen

What! not some oysters, gather'd near the coast,
Such as in days of old we lov'd to roast?

Sangrado

No, not an oyster--faith, you're in a dream,
To think I'd load my little nag with them:
We both are weary; let me in, I pray,
Even though you turn us out at break of day.

Citizen

'Tis midnight now--return from whence you come--
High time all honest people were at home.

Sangrado

Brother, me thinks my toes are somewhat cold--
Unbar your door--if one may be so bold:
Wet to the skin, and travelling all the day,
I want some rest--open the door, I say!

Citizen

Open the door, forsooth! the man is mad:
Lodging is not so easy to be had;
It is an article we do not trade in,
Nor shall my bed by all the world be laid in.
Our very hay-loft is as full as can be--
Push off, my friend, and try your luck at Granby.