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Page 55:-
I arriv'd; one by this Cheese-a,
Styl'd the eighth Wiseman of Greece-a,
Voice more sweet than Progne's Sister,
Like a Torch his Nose does Glister.
To Hocklayhole as I approached,
Scylla's barmy cell I broached:
Dark as th' Cave of Pluto's Station,
Or Laverna's Habitation:
Quaffing there while I could stand-o,
Madder grew I than Orlando.
Thence to Dunstable, all about me;
Mice within, and Thieves without me:
But no Fears affrights deep Drinkers,
There I tost it with my Skinkers:
Not a drop of Wit remained
Which the Bottle had not drained.
Thence to Redburne, where were Players,
None of Roscius active Heirs:
Prologue crown'd with a Wreath of Ivy,
Jetted like an Ape most lively:
I told them sitting at the * Banquet,
They should be canvas'd in a Blanket.
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