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Moore, Thomas, 1779-1852

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


[2] See her Letters.
[3] It would be an edifying thing to write a history of the private
amusements of sovereigns, tracing them down from the fly-sticking of
Domitian, the mole-catching of Artabanus, the, hog-mimicking of
Parmenides, the horse-currying of Aretas, to the petticoat-embroidering of
Ferdinand, and the patience-playing of the Prince Regent!
[4] See the _Quarterly Review_ for May, 1816 where Mr. Hobhouse is
accused of having written his book "in a back street of the French
capital."



LETTER III.
FROM MR. BOB FUDGE TO RICHARD ----, ESQ.

Oh Dick! you may talk of your writing and reading,
Your Logic and Greek, but there's nothing like feeding;
And _this_ is the place for it, DICKY, you dog,
Of all places on earth--the headquarters of Prog!
Talk of England--her famed _Magna Charta_, I swear, is
A humbug, a flam, to the Carte[1] at old VERY'S;
And as for your Juries--_who_ would not set o'er 'em
A Jury of Tasters, with woodcocks before 'em?
Give CARTWRIGHT his Parliaments, fresh every year;
But those friends of _short Commons_ would never do here;
And, let ROMILLY speak as he will on the question.
No Digest of Law's like the laws of digestion!
By the by, DICK, _I_ fatten--but _n'importe_ for that,
'Tis the mode--your Legitimates always get fat.


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