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 The rustic soon resumes his load,

And, whistling, plods along the road.

The impatient farmer hails the clown,

And asks, "What news from London town

The pig was liked; they made you drink?"

"Nay, master! master! what d'ye think?

The pig (or I am a stupid log,)

Is changed into a puppy dog;"

"A dog!"-"Nay since my word you doubt;

See here; I'll fairly turn him out."

No sooner was the sack untied,

Than a loud grunt his word belied:

"Death!" cries the farmer, "tell me whence

Proceeds this daring insolence?

Make haste, you blunderer, take it back,

Or from my service you shall pack!"

The clown in patient soul and blood,

A while in silent wonder stood;

Then briefly cried, with phiz demure,---

"Yon lawyer is a witch, for sure!

How hoarse his voice! his face how grim!

What's pig with us is dog with him:---

O master save me from derision,

For as I live I've seen a vision!"





is a pleasure in the pathless woods,

There is a rapture on the lonely shore,

There is society, where none intrudes,

By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:

I love not Man the less, but Nature more,