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Moore, Thomas, 1779-1852

"The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Collected by Himself with Explanatory Notes"


Will nobody bid? It is cheap, I am sure, Sir--
Once, twice,--going, going,--thrice, gone!--it is yours, Sir.
To pay ready money you sha'n't be distrest,
As a _bill_ at _long date_ suits the Chancellor best.
Come, where's the next Tool?--
Oh! 'tis here in a trice--
This implement, Ge'mmen, at first was a _Vice_;
(A tenacious and close sort of tool that will let
Nothing out of its grasp it once happens to get;)
But it since has received a new coating of _Tin_,
Bright enough for a Prince to behold himself in.
Come, what shall we say for it? briskly! bid on,
We'll the sooner get rid of it--going--quite gone.
God be with it, such tools, if not quickly knockt down,
Might at last cost their owner--how much? why, a _Crown_!
The next Tool I'll set up has hardly had handsel or
Trial as yet and is _also_ a Chancellor--
Such dull things as these should be sold by the gross;
Yet, dull as it is, 'twill be found to _shave close_,
And like _other_ close shavers, some courage to gather,
This _blade_ first began by a flourish on _leather_.[2]
You shall have it for nothing--then, marvel with me
At the terrible _tinkering_ work there must be,
Where a Tool such as this is (I'll leave you to judge it)
Is placed by ill luck at the top of _the Budget_!

[1] An allusion to Lord Eldon's lachrymose tendencies.


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