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Goes wild with dread, Now seeks him dead, And hears the knell That bids farewell To dulce, dulce domum.

TOBY FILPOT.

Dear Tom, this brown jug, which now foams with mild ale, In which I will drink to sweet Nan of the vale. Was once Toby Filpot, a thirsty old soul. As e'er drank a bottle, or fathom'd a bowl. In boozing about ‘twas his praise to excel. And ‘mongst jolly topers he bore off the bell.

He bore off the bell.

It chanc'd, as in dog-days, he sat at his ease. In his flow'r-woven arbour, as gay as you please, With a friend and a pipe, puffing sorrow away,