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Than grant me good snuff--there I taste no alloy, For it cannot like wine, our reason destroy; Oh, this sansative nose must be callous enough, When I cease to delight in a pinch of good snuff. Snuff snuff! &c.

--

The Post Office.

IN a post office bred, What a life sure I led, When I handed the thoughts of my betters: O it was such a scene, That our great public inn, Might be called the re-public of letters. To Northumberland, And Cumberland, To Westmoreland, And Sunderland; To Hartford, And Dartford, And Bedford, And Deptford. North, south, east, and west, To each corner address'd,                      Such a wonderful concentration. I might say without brag, I could shake in a bag Half the wisdom and wit of the nation,

Do pray stand away from the windows, or I                 can't see to give out the letters.--Pray, Sir, hav'nt you not never a von for me,--my name's                 Mr. Timothy Twist; I'm a tailor, and it's from