WHAT D'YE LACK?

The very old muse keeps trade cards
And shushes me when I try to insist
Printseller Thomas Bakewell, dead since 1749,
Not longer giveth good allowance to those
Who Buy to Sell Again. Though Richard Harper
With his Son's Care and Assistance
Once carefully and decently carted night soil
And emptied Sess-Pools to the Satisfaction
Of all who pleased to employ him,
He does so no longer. The Misses Hogarth
Will not sell me new or used frocks. Gentlemen
Possessing loose Sets of Bones,
Will look in vain for Nath. Longbottom
To mount them or sell them Skeletons
Of different Sizes & both Sexes,
Of good Colour & Accurately Articulated.
"The cards do not know," the muse says.