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26

Old Jonquil, the crooked-back'd beau, had been told, That a tax would be laid on old bachelors' gold, So he lac'd down his hump, pre-determined to try The long disus'd weapons of Cupid, so sly, Sought out half open'd buds in their infantine years, And ogled them all, till they blushed to their ears.

Philosopher Sage, on a sofa was prosing, With good Dr. Chamomile quietly dozing, 'Though the Laurel descanted, with eloquent breath, Of heroes and battles, of victory and death; Of the conquests of Greece, and Bozzaris, the brave,— "He had trod in his footsteps, and sigh'd o'er his grave."

Farmer Sunflower stood near, entertaining a guest, With the crops he had rais'd, and the cheeses he prest;