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“The pot boys howl with porter for their bellies;
The bakers knock, with custards, tarts, and pies;

Confectioners, with rare ice-creams and jellies;
The fruiterer, lo, with richest pine supplies :

“In secret, thus, they eat, and booze, and nod;
In public call indulgence a damn'd evil;

Order their fimple flocks to walk with God,
And ride themselves an airing with the Devil."

T H E M A N OF ME TH OD:
From the Pursuits of Literature. A Satirical Poem.

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And oft in thought, by antique pavements laid,
With Lysons guide the military spade;
And once, for purer air o'er rural ground,
With little Daniel went his twelve miles round.

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that I ain right, in pronouncing the panegyrick of this learned classick on the Stock Exchange,

* Prens

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