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IX.
(No tale, tho' in print, more true is)
My Muse stops short in mid career—
Nay, gentle reader! do not sneer!
I cannot choose but drop a tear,
A tear for good old Lewis!
X.
All follow'd, boy and dad,
Bull-dog, Parson, Shopman, Clown:
The Publicans rush'd from the Crown,
"Halloo! hamstring him! cut him down!"
They drove the poor Ox mad.
XI.
Why e'en a Rat may plague you:
There's no Philosopher but sees
That Rage and Fear are one disease—
Though that may burn and this may freeze,
They're both alike the Ague.