THE HOUSE-SPARROW, 1s) 
Of all the creatures, that were ever set 
Upon two legs, there’s nothing to be met, 
Save some congeners in our own sweet race, 
Made of such matter, common, cocket, base, 
As are these Sparrows! Would that some ma- 
gician, 
Philosopher or chemist would but show us 
What ’tis that constitutes the composition 
Of certain men in town, who drive, or row us, 
Cads, jarvies, porters of a low degree, 
Haunters of theatre, tavern, and coach-doors, 
Men all alert in dust and misery ; 
Men made to elbow, bustle, cheat or steal, 
Careless of scorn, incapable to feel 
Indignity or shame—vulgar and vain, 
Hunger and cold their only sense of pain. 
Just of this class, amongst all feathered 
things, 
Is this Jack Sparrow. He’s no bird that sings, 
He makes no grand pretences; has no fine 
Airs of high breeding—he but wants to dine. 
His dress is brown, his body stiff and stout, 
Coarse in his nature. made to prog about. 
