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334 And Wallack,69 too, no longer dips
 * In bathos, for the tragic prize;

And Bartley,69 a melalogue that slips Melodious from her honeyed lips,
 * No more in murmured music dies.

Yet, though fell Fortune has bereft My heart of all, one mode is left
 * In slumber’s vision to restore ’em;

Weekly I’ll buy with pious pence, A dose of opiate eloquence,
 * And sleep in quiet at the Forum.

D.