Published 13. Aug. 1796. by LAURIE & WHITTLE. 53 Fleet Street, London.

THE ADVENTURES OF YOUNG WHIPSTITCH,
A TALE.

A LONDON Taylor, (as 'tis said,) By buckram, canvas, tape, and thread, Sleeve-linings, pockets, silk and twist, And all the long expensive list, With which their uncouth bills abound, Tho' rarely in the garment found: By these and other arts in trade, Had soon a pretty fortune made; And did what few had ever done, Left thirty thousand to his son.

The son, a gay young swaggering blade,
Abhor'd the very name of trade;
And, lest reflection should be thrown
On him, resolv'd to leave the town,
And travel where he was not known.
In gilded coach and liveries gay,
To Oxford first he took his way;
There beaux and belles his taste admire,
His equipage and rich attire:
But nothing was so much ador'd
As his fine silver hilted sword;
Tho' short and small, 'twas vastly neat,
The sight was deem'd a perfect treat.
Beau Banter begg'd to have a look,
But when the sword in hand he took,
He swore by Gad it was an odd thing,
And look'd much like a taylor's bodkin.
His pride was hurt by this expression,
Thinking they knew his sire's profession;
Sheathing his sword, he sneak'd away,
And drove for Glo'ster that same day.
There soon he found new cause for grief,
For dining on some fine roast beef,
One asked which did he prefer,
Some cabbage or a cucumber.
The purse-proud coxcomb took the hint,
Thought it severe reflection meant;
His stomach turn'd, he could not eat,
So made an ungenteel retreat:
Next day left Glo'ster in great wrath,
And bid his coachman drive to Bath.

There he suspected fresh abuse,
Because the dinner was roast goose;
And that he might no more be jeer'd,
Next day to Exeter he steer'd:
There with some bucks he drank about,
Until he fear'd they'd found him out;
His glass not fill'd, as was the rule,
They said 'twas not a thimble full:
The name of thimble was enough,
He paid his reck'ning, and went off.
He then to Plymouth took a trip,
And put up at the Royal Ship,
Which then was kept by Caleb Snip.
The host by name was often call'd,
At which his guest was so much gall'd,
That soon to Cambridge he remov'd;
There too he unsuccessful prov'd:
For tho' he fill'd his glass or cup,
He did not always drink it up.
The scholars mark'd how he behav'd,
And said a remnant should be sav'd.
The name of remnant gall'd him so,
That he resolv'd to York to go:
There fill'd his bumper to the top,
And always fairly drank it up:
"Well done, (says Jack, a buck of York,)
"You go thro' stitch, sir, with your work."
The name of stitch was such reproach,
He rang the bell, and call'd his coach.
But 'ere he went, enquiries made,
By what means they knew his trade:
"You put the cap on, and it fits,"
(Replied one of the Yorkshire Wits.)
"Our words, in common acceptation,
"Could not find out your occupation;
"'Twas you yourself gave us the clue,
"To find out both your trade and you.
"Vain coxcombs and fantastic beaux
"In every place themselves expose;
"They travel far at vast expense,
"To shew their wealth and want of sense;
"But, take this for a standing rule,
"There's no disguise can screen a fool."