'It wou'd be tedious now to tell
'What to your humble Slave befel,
'Amongst a rude mechanick Band,
'Till Fortune gave me to your Hand:
'Now if a proper Post I knew,
'I'd gladly be of use to you;
'But you resolve to hide no Pelf,
'And choose to walk abroad yourself:
'But,  these are dang'rous Times,
'I'd have you fasten up your Rhymes;
'And 'tis the best thing you can do,
'To nail up Pens and Paper too:
'Do this and get thee gone to spinning,
'Or wisely dearn your Father's Linen. "
This said — a Cart with rumbling Sound
Came by, and shook the trembling Ground;
The Vision vanish'd from her Sight,
And  waken'd in a Fright.