You are, though living in a garret

No more a Poet, than a Parrot

At first you take a doggrel verse,

And, alexandrine then rehearse.

You hobble on, or wrong or right

With sometimes ten and sometimes eight.

By your own syllogistic rule

You must confess yourself a fool.

and if Bob Longer lacks of wit

He that is shorter must have it.

Besides I see you’ve chang’d your name

Because the first brought you to shame

And must certainly be wrong

Who now is short, and now is long.