"The last I heard was that he was scouring London, tearing his periwig in pieces in despair that the race of poets was extinct, and he could only find the most wretched doggerel mongers, whose productions were too vile to be tolerated.
Has the noble lord found a better rhymster?
Or will the victory of the great Duke have to go unsung by the Muse ?" "What! have you not heard the end of that matter?
Why, my Lord Halifax declared that he knew the man worthy of the occasion; but he would not reveal the name unless it was promised that he should be excellently well treated.

And this man is none other than Joseph Addison, a fellow of the University of Oxford, and a man well thought of and pensioned, too, by the late King William.

But since the death of His Majesty, the poet has been living in poverty and obscurity in a humble lodging hard by the Haymarket.

There it was that he received a visit one day from the two noble lords; and it hath since been whispered that a poem is a-preparing so fine in quality and so finished in style, that my Lord Godolphin is now fit to dance a hornpipe for joy, and has promised a bountiful reward to the genius whose brain has devised and whose hand has penned the lines.

They say that the poem is to be called 'The Campaign,' and that it is one of the finest the world has ever seen." Whilst this sort of talk was going on in one corner, there were counter-conversations, more interesting to Tom, being carried on in other parts of the room.