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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=396263" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Thomas Moore : Written The Evening Before His Visit To Mr. Leigh Hunt In Horsemonger Lane Gaol, May 19, 1813</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=396263" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Oh you, who in all names can tickle the town,<br>Anacreon, Tom Little, Tom Moore, or Tom Brown,<br>For hang me if I know of which you may most brag,<br>Your Quarto two-pounds, or your Two­penny Post Bag;</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=396263" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">But now to my letter-to yours 'tis an answer-- <br>To-morrow be with me, as soon as you can, sir,<br>All ready and dress'd for proceeding to spunge on<br>(According to compact) the wit in the dungeon--<br>Pray Phobus at length our political ma­lice<br>May not get us lodgings within the same palace! <br>I suppose that to-night you're engaged with some codgers,<br>And for Sotheby's Blues have deserted Sam Rogers;<br>And I, though with cold I have nearly my death got,<br>Must put on my breeches, and wait on the Heathcote;<br>But to-morrow, at four, we will both play the Scurra,<br>And you'll be Catullus, the Regent Mamurra.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Byron">Byron</a></strong></div>

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