Punch's Petition to the Ladies

Fair ones who do all hearts command,
And gently sway with fan in hand
Your favourite--Punch a suppliant falls,
And humbly for assistance calls;
He humbly calls and begs you'll stop
The gothic rage of Vander Hop,
Wh'invades without pretence and right,
Or any law but that of might,
Our Pigmy land--and treats our kings
Like paltry idle wooden things;
Has beat our dancers out of doors,
And call'd our chastest virgins whores;
He has not left our Queen a rag on,