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Poor Just-ass! O, he'll be gone to rest, So 'bout him you need not be distrest. In some nook he'll be taking repose, To relieve from the weight of his nose; It, and his head, on some place to lay; Sure, plaguily, 'tis oft' in his way.

Zounds! I'll be take myself to this Care; They'll not search for me in such a place l (He steals into, and seats himself, with elegant anguishing dignity, in the press under the stair.)