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Moore, Thomas, 1779-1852

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


Little doing--for sacred, oh Wednesday, thou art
To the seven-o'-clock joys of full many a table--
When _the Members_ all meet, to make much of that part,
With which they so rashly fell out in the Fable.
It appeared, tho', to-night, that--as church-wardens yearly,
Eat up a small baby--those cormorant sinners.
The Bankrupt Commissioners, _bolt_ very nearly
A moderate-sized bankrupt, _tout chaud_, for their dinners![2]
_Nota bene_--a rumor to-day, in the city,
"Mr. Robinson just has resigned"--what a pity!
The Bulls and the Bears all fell a sobbing,
When they heard of the fate of poor Cock _Robin_:
While thus, to the nursery tune, so pretty,
A murmuring _Stock_-dove breathed her ditty:--
Alas, poor _Robin_, he crowed as long
And as sweet as a prosperous Cock could crow;
But his _note_ was _small_ and the _gold_-finch's song
Was a pitch too high for Robin to go.
Who'll make his shroud?
"I," said the Bank, "tho' he played me a prank,
"While I have a rag, poor _Rob_ shall be rolled in't,
"With many a pound I'll paper him round,
"Like a plump rouleau--_without_ the gold in it."

[1] "Another objection to a metallic currency was, that it produced a
greater number of highway robberies."--_Debate in the Lords_.
[2] Mr.


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