Verse 1
To You, dear Doctor, I appeal,
To all the Tuneful City.
Am I not used extremely ill
By Musical Committee?

Verse 2
Why ’tis enough to make one wild—
They court, and then refuse me,
They Advertize, and call me Child,
And as a Child they use me.

Verse 3
Excusing their contempt, they say
(Which more inflames my passion)
I am not grave enough to play
Before the Corporation.

Verse 4
To the sweet City-waifs altho’
I may not hold a candle,
I question if their Worships know
The Odds t’wixt me and Handel.

Verse 5
“A Child of 8 years old” I grant,
Must be both light and giddy,
The Solidness of Burgum want
The Steadiness of Liddy:

Verse 6
Yet quick perhaps as other folks
I can assign a reason,
And keep my time as well as Stokes
And come as much in season.

Verse 7
With Bristol-Organists not yet
I come in competition:
But let them know I wou’d be great,
I do not want ambition;

Verse 8
Spirit I do not want, or will
Upon a just occasion,
To make the rash Despisers feel
My weight of indignation.

Verse 9
Tread on a worm, t’will turn again:
And shall not I resent it?
Who gave the sore affront, in vain
They wou’d with tears repent it.

Verse 10
Nothing shall sir appease my Rage
At their uncouth demeanor,
Unless they prudently assuage
Mine anger with—A Steyner.