FOR MR. JOHN HOLLAMBT, HAILSHAM, SUSSEX. 
 
 
 
 All even when the weather’s found to prove both wet and shivery, 
 
 ^No postman good lets midwives e’en surpass him for delivery^ 
 
 This note, I trust to find it was with equal care dispatch’d 
 
 That sly mammas are known to take their girls to get well match’d ! 
 
 Good Postmen, then, the question is, — 1 request you’ll go in quest 
 Of a Miller who, at HAILSHAM, makes of dumpling-dust the best. 
 
 A town well-known in SUSSEX ’tis where this my friend gains fame, 
 
 And, to prevent your venting “growls,” JOHN HOLLAMBY’s his name. 
 An upright y downright honest man, whose “toll-dish” ne’er did rob. 
 
 For, though a dusty, — (unlike P l) — he’s not a scaly** Bob 1 
 
 He, too, than jobbing, robbing Bob pursues far better tracks. 
 
 For our memories — and not our cash — is all he’ll ever tax ! 
 
 The doings of our “c?o”-ing Bob of late have been so queer. 
 
 Some swear he’ll prove — like Goldsmith’s priest — “to all the country dear!** 
 And thousands now for England’s fate with grief exclaim “Oh, lor!” 
 
 For, while Bob’s “out” about the corny there’s Vic. oft “in the straw!** 
 
 But soon, ’tis hoped — instead of brats — she'll ^^bear** but in her mind. 
 
 Or we, too, shall need delivery y if thus she’s still ‘^confined!** 
 
 Though light letters than “light” lasses, sure, less faulty you’d pronounce. 
 For a poundy Good Messrs. Postmen, this does not exceed an ounce!