| Citation |
VGW(RI.774.060
22 Sep 1774:22 (437)
London. . . Tuesday morning a squeamish journeyman tailor,
in the neighbourhood of Lincoln's Inn Fields, for a trifling
wager, eat seven buttered roles, and drank one pennyworth of
beer. He was allowed one hour to do it in, but, like a true
son of liberty, erected on his exalted throne, he valiantly
performed the arduous task, and became master of the roles
in exactly forty five minutes.
Famine in masquerade, behold thy portrait here,
Seven mighty butter'd roles, one pennyworth of beer,
Devour'd he, nor seem'd he yet to thrive,
Tho' all cramm'd down in minutes forty five.
Amaz'd the standers by! Time cry'd, as ambling on,
Phantom, I dread thee, thou art famine's son!
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