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VAUNT! arch-enemy of fun,
 * Grim nightmare of the wind;

Which way, great Momus! shall I run,
 * A refuge safe to find?

My puppy’s dead—Miss Rumor’s breath
 * Is stopped for lack of news,

And Fitz2 is almost hypped to death,
 * And Lang2 has got the blues.

I’ve read friend Noah’s book quite through,
 * Appendix, notes, and all;

I’ve swallowed Lady Morgan’s3 too,
 * And blundered through De Staël;3

The Edinburgh Review—I’ve seen’t
 * The last that has been shipped;

I’ve read, in short, all books in print,
 * And some in manuscript.