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 The frighted beast ran on—but here, (No tale, tho' in print, more true is) My Muse stops short in mid career— Nay, gentle reader! do not sneer! I cannot choose but drop a tear, A tear for good old Lewis!

The frighted beast ran through the town; All follow'd, boy and dad, Bull-dog, Parson, Shopman, Clown: The Publicans rush'd from the Crown, "Halloo! hamstring him! cut him down!" .

Should you a Rat to madness teize, Why e'en a Rat may plague you: There's no Philosopher but sees That Rage and Fear are one disease— Though that may burn and this may freeze, They're both alike the Ague.