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Expect her foon with foot-boy at her heels,
No longer blushing for her awkward load,
Her train and her umbrella all her care!

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Man in society is like a flower Blown in its native bed: 'tis there alone His faculties, expanded in full bloom, Shine out; there only reach their proper use. But man, affociated and leagued with man By regal warrant, or self-joined by bond For intereft-lake, or fwarming into clans Beneath one head for purposes of war, Like flowers selected from the rest, and bound And bundled close to fill some crowded vase, Fades rapidly, and by compression marred Contracts defilement not to be endured. Hence chartered boroughs are such public plagues ; And burghers, men immaculate perhaps In all their private functions, once combined,

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