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THE dog room is over, and I have seen the ng! I'm very sure my head is turn'd, and won't come right this spring: I positively can't take off my feathers and my train, I never look’d so well before, and never may again.

I heard a lady to a lord complaining of the crowd,

And say, “What common people come!—I wonder they’re allow'd!”

Of course that wasn't meant for me, though father did sell cheese;

Since brother made a noble match, I’ll go there when I please.

And I was ornamented too, nobody look’d so fine,

I did not see one gown or train that look'd the least like mine;

I'm sure I had more colours on, than anybody there,

Green, red, and yellow mingled, and blue feathers in my hair.

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They led me to his majesty—I thought I would have

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And there the king and I were standing, face to face ether, I said, “How is your majesty —it's mighty pleasant weather.”

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at— I'm * king had half a mind to bid me stop and chat: But looking on, I saw the queen! I'm sure I hope and

trust She didn't see the king kiss me! and yet I think she must.

I curtsey'd to her majesty, the proper thing to do,
And seeing ladies standing round, I curtsey'd to them

too I honour maids of honour so, I wish'd to be polite, And the queen and all the ladies smiled, which proved that I was right.

I knew (though ne'er at court before!) well what I was about— Of course I did not turn my back, but tried to sidle

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witty, "Twas in à court that father lived—a back court in

the city -

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Away I sparkled in the ring;
And soon was known as false and fair:
Oh! 'tis a dear delightful thing
When first we make a swain despair.
There was young Frederick all on fire,
Who vow'd and swore—I know not what—
Of course I left him to expire.
Was I right, or was I not?

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Some shook their heads, but I had skill:
Lovers and friends I went on winning,
What will you have 2 I flirted still,—
Because #. at beginning.
A long gay train I led away;
Young Š. sure was in the plot;
I thought the spell would last for aye :-
Was I right, or was I not?

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But now 'tis come into my head
That I must grow discreet and sage,
For there are hints my charms have fled,
And I approach “a certain age.”
So the next offer—that's my plan—
I'll nail, decisive on the spot;
"Tis time that I'd secured my man.
Am I right, or am I not?

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I speAK to Time and to Eternity,
Of which I grow a portion, not to man.
Ye elements' in which to be resolved
I hasten, let my voice be as a spirit
Upon you! #. blue waves! which bore my banner,
Ye winds! which flutter'd o'er as if you loved it,
And fill'd my swelling sails as they were wasted
To many a triumph! Thou, my native earth,
Which I have bled for, and thou foreign earth,
Which drank this willing blood from many a wound!
Ye stones, in which my gore will not sink, but
Reek up to Heaven! Ye skies which will receive

Thou sun! which shinest on these things, and

hou! Who kindlest and who quenchest suns!—attest:

I am not innocent—but are these guiltless?
I perish, but not unavenged; far ages
oat up from the abyss of time to be,
And show these eyes, before they close, the doom
Of this proud city, and I leave my curse
On her and her’s for ever:—Yes, the hours
Are silently engendering of the day,
When she who built 'gainst Attila a bulwark,
Shall yield, and bloodlessly and basely yield
Unto a bastard Attila, without
Shedding so much blood in her last defence
As these old veins, oft drain’d in shielding her,
Shall pour in sacrifice.—She shall be bought
And sold, and be an appanage to those
Who shall despise her!—She shall stoop to be
A province for an empire, petty town
In lieu of capital, with slaves for senates,
Beggars for nobles, panders for a people!
Then, when the Hebrew's in thy palaces,
The Hun in thy high places, o |. Greek
Walks o'er thy mart, and smiles on it for his'
When thy patricians beg their bitter bread
In narrow streets, and in their shameful need
Make their nobility a plea for pity:
Then, when the few who still retain a wreck
Of their #. fathers' heritage shall sawn
Round a barbarian Vice of King's Vice-gerent,
Even in the palace where they sway’d as sovereigns,
Even in the palace where they slew their sovereign,
Proud of some name they have disgraced, or sprung
From an adultress boastful of her guilt
With some large gondolier or foreign soldier,
Shall bear about their bastardy in triumph
To the third spurious generation;–when
Thy sons are in the lowest scale of being,
Slaves turn'd o'er to the vanquish’d by the victors,
Despised by cowards for still greater cowardice,
ofscorn'd even by the vicious for such vices
As, in the monstrous grasp of their conception,
Defy all codes to image or to name them;

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