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The rest, some farm the poor-box, some the pews;
Some keep assemblies, and would keep the stews;

EPISTLE VI.
Some with fat bucks on childish dotards fawn;

T. Mr. Murray. Some win rich widows by their chine and brawn; While with the silent growih of ten per cent. « Not to admire, is all the art I know In dirt and darkness, hundreds stink content. • To makc men happy, and to keep them so."

Of all these ways, if each pursues his owii, (Plain truth, dear Murray! nerds no flow'rs of Satire, be kind, and let, the wretch alone : 1 speech; But show me one who has it in his pow'r So take it in the very words of Creech). To act consistent with himself an hour. | This vault of air, this congregated ball, Sir Job sail'd forth, the evening bright and still, Sell-centred sun, and stars that rise and fall, “ No place on earth (he cried) like Greenwich There are, my friend! whose philosophic eves « hill?"

Look thro' and trust the Ruler with his shies; Up starts a palace, lo! th' obedient base ) To him commit the hour, the day, the year, Slopes at its foot, the woods its sides enbrace And view this dreadful all without a fear. The silver Thames reflects its marble face. ! Admire we then what earili's low entrails Now let some whimsy, or that devil within 2. Arabian shores, or Indian seas infold: (hold, Which guides all those who know not what (All the mad trade of fools and slaves for gold?) they mean,

Or popularity, or stars and strings? But give the Knight (or give his Lady) splern, The mob's applauses, or the gifts of kings? • Away, away! take all your scaffolds down, Say with what eyes we ought at counts to gaze, • For snug 's the word : my dear! we 'll live in And pay the great our homage of amaze?

Ifweak the pleasure that from these can spring, At anı'rous Flavio is the stocking thrown; The fear to want thein is as weak a thing. . That very night he longs to lie alone.

Whether we dread, or whether we desire, The fool whose wife elopes some thrice a quarter, In either case, believe me, we arlmire; For matrimonial solace dies a martyr. * Whether we joy or grieve, the same the curse, Did cver Proteus, Merlin, any witch,

Surpris'd at better, or surpris'd at worse. Transform themselves so strangely as the rich? Thus, good or bad to one extreme betray Well, but the poor-the poorhaveihe sameitch;) Thunbalanc'd mind, and snatch the man away, They change their weekly barber, weekly news, For virtuc's self may 100 much zeal be had ; Prefer a new japanner to their shoes,

The worst of madmen is a saint run mad. Discharge their garrets, move their beds, and run Go then, and if you can, admire the state (They know not wither) in a chaise and one ; Of beaming dianionds, and reflected plate: They hire their sculler, and when once aboard Procure a taste to double the surprise. Grow sick, and damn the climate like a lord. And gaze on Parian charms with learned eres :

You laugh, half bean, half sloven, if I stand, Be struck with bright brocade, os Tyrian dye, Niy wig all powder, and all snuff my band; Our birth-day nobles' splendid livery. You laugh, if coat and breeches strangely vary, If not so pleas'd, at council board rejoice, White gloves, and linen worthy lady Mary. To see their judgements hang upon thy voice; But when no prclate's lawn with hair-shirt lin'd From morn to night, at senaie, rolls, and hall, Is half so incoherent as my mind,

Plead much, read more, dine late, or not at all. When (each opinion with the next at strife, But wherefore all this laber, all this strife? One ebb and flow of follies all my life)! For faine, for riches, for a noble wife? I plant, root up; I build, and then confound ; Shallone whom vature, learning, birth conspir'd Turn round tosquare, and square again to round, To form, not to admire bui le admir'd, You never change one muscle of your face, Sigh while his Chloe, blind to wit and worth, You think this madness but a common case, Weds the rich dullness of some son of earth? Nor once to Chancery nor to Hale apply ; | Yet time ennobles or degrades cach line; Yet hang your lip, to see a seam awry!

It brighten'd Craggs's, and may darken thine : Careless how ill I with myself agree,

| And wliat is fame? the meanest have their day; Kind to my dress, my figure, not to me. | The greatest can but blaze, and pass away. Is this my guide, philosopher, and friend? Grac'd as thou art with all the pow'r of words; This he who loves me, and who ought to mend; So known, so honor'd, at the House of Lords. Who ought to make me (what he can, or none) Conspicuous scene ! another yet is nigh, That man divine whom wisdom calls her own; (More silent far) where king and poets lie: Great withont title, without fortune blest; [prest; Where Murray (longenough his country's pride) Rich even when plunder'd, honor'd while op- Shall be no more than Tully, or an Ilyde! Lord without yoath, and follow'dwithout pow'r;/ Rack'd with sciatics, martyrd with the stone, At home, tho' exilid; free, tho' in the Tow'r: Will any mortal let himself alone ? In short, that reas'ning, high, immortal thing; See Ward by batter'd beaus invited over, Just less than Jore, and much above a king And desp'rate mis'rv lays hold on Dover. Nav, halfin heaven-except (what's mighty odd) | The case is easier in tlie mind's disease ; of vapors clouds this demi-god ? | There all men may becur'd whene'er they please;

Would

Would ye be blest? despise low joys, low gains;) (From Latian Syrens, French Circærian feasts, Disdaini whatever Cornbury disdains ;

Retorn'd well travelld, and transformi'd to beasts; Be virtuous, and be happy for your pains. Or for a titled punk, or foreign faine,

But art ihou one whoin new opinions sway, Renommce our country and degrade our name? One who believes as Tindal leads ihe way; If, after all, we must with Wilmot own, Who virtue and a church alike disowns ; The cordial drop of life is love alone, Thinks that but words, and this but brick and And Swift cry wisely, “ Vive la Bagatelle!” stones?

The man thai loves and laughs may sure do well. Fly then on all the wings of wild desire, Adieuif this advice appear the worst, Admire what 'er the maddest can admire. Ev'n take the counsel which I gave you first; Is wealth thy passion. Hence! froin pole to pole, Or, letter precepts if you can impart, Where winds can carry, or where waves can roll, Why do ; I'll follow them with all my heart. For Indian spices, for Beruvian gold, Prevent the greccy, or outbid the bold:

E PISTLE 1. BOOK 11. Advance thy gollen mountain to the skies;

To Augustus. On the broad base of fifiy thousand rise, Add, one round hundred, and (if that's not fair)! While you, great patron of mankind! sustain Add fifty more, and bring it to a square.

The balanc'd world, and open all the main ; For, mark th' advantage, just so inany score Your country, chief, in arms abroad defend, Will gain a wife with half as many more ;

At home with morals, arts, and laws amend; Procure her beauty, make that beauty chaste; How shall the Muse from such a monarch steal And then such friends-as cannot fail to last. An hour, and not defraud the public weal? A man of wealıb is dubb'd a inan of worth; Edward and Henry now the boast of fame, Venus shall give him form, and Anstis youth. Aud virtuous Alfred, a more sacred name, (Believe me, many a German prince is worse, After a life of gen'rous toils endur'd Who, proud of perligree, is poor of purse)

The Gaul subdued, or property secur'd, His wealth brave Timon gloriously confounds; Ambition humbled, mighty cities stormd, Askd for a groat, he gives a hundred pounds; Or laws establish'd, and the world reformid; Or if three ladies like a luckless play,

Clos'd their long glories with a sigh, to find Takes the whole house upon the poet's day. | Th' unwilling gratitude of base inankind!

Now in such exigences not to need, All human virtue, to its latest breath,. Upon any word, you must be rich indeed ; Finds envy never conquer'd but by death. A noble superfuity it craves,

The great Alcides, ev'ry labor past, Not for yourself, but for your fools and knaves; Had still this monster to subdue at last. Something, which for your honor they maycheat, Sure fate of all, beneath whose rising ray And which it much becomes you to forget. Each star of meaner merit fades away! If wealth alone then inake and keep us blest, Opprest we feel the beam directly beat, Sull, still be getting ; ncver, never rest. Those suns of glory please not till they set. '

But if to pow'r and place your passion lie, To thee the world its present homage pays, If in the pomp of life consists the joy,

The harvest early, but mature the praise : Then hire a slave, or (if you will) a lord, Great friend of liberty! in kings a name To do the honors, and to give the word : Above all Greek, above all Roman fame : Tell at your levee, as the crowds approach, Whose word is truth, as sacred and rever'd To whom to nod, whom take into your coach, As Heaven's own oracles from altars heard. Whom honor with your hand : to make remarks Wonder of kings ! like whom to mortal eyes Who rules in Cornwall, or who rules in Berks: None e'er as risen, and none e'er shall rise. “ This inay be troublesome, is near the chair; 1 Just in one instance, be it yet confest, " That makes three members, this can choose Your people, sir, are partial in the rest : " a may'r."

Foes to all living worih except your own, Instructed thus, you bow, embrace, protest, And advocates for folly dead and gone. Adopt him son, or cousin at the least, Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old, Then turn about, and laugh at your own jest. It is the rust we value not the gold.'

Or if your life be one continued treat, Chaucer's worst ribaldry is learn'd by rote, If to live well meaus nothing but to eat, And beastly Skelton heads of houses quote : Up, up! cries Gluttony, 'tis break of day; One likes no language but the Fairy Queen ; Go, drive the deer, and drag the finny prey, A Scot will fight for Christ's kirk o'er the Green! With hounds and horns go hunt an appetile - And each true Briton is to Ben so civil, So Russel did, but could not eat at night ; He swears the Muses met him at the Devil. Calld“ happy dog" the beggar at his door ; Tho' justly Greece her eldest sons admires, And envied thirst and hunger to the pour. (Why should not we be wiser than our sires ?

Or shall we every decency confound, In ev'ry public virtue we excel; Thro'taverns, stews, and bagnios takeour round; We build, we paint, we sing, we dance as well: Go dine with Chartres, in each vice outdo And learned Athens to our art must stoop, K-I's lewd cargo, or Ty-y's crew,

Could she behold us trembling thro' a hoop.

S 2

If time improve our wits as well as wine, One simile, that solitary shines Say at what age a poet grows dirine?

In the dry desart of a thousand lines, Shall we, or shall we not, account him so, Or lengthen'd thought that gleams thro' many Who died, perhaps an hundred years ago?

a page, Enul all dispute, and fix the rear precise Mas sanctilied whole poems for an age. When British bards begin t'immortalize? I lose iny patience, and I own it too,

“ Who lasts a century can bare no Aaw? When works are censur'd not as bail, but new; " I hold that wit a classic, good in law." While, if our elders break all reason's laws,

Suppose he wants a rear, will you compound? These fools demand not pardon, but applause. And shall we deem him anticnt, rizlii, and On Avon's bank, where flow'rs eternal blow, Or damn to all eternity at once, sound ? If I but ask if any weed can grow; At ninety-nine, a modern and a dunce. One tragic sentence if I dare ileride,

« We shall not quarrel for a year or two; Which Beiterton's grave action dignified, “ By courtesy of England he may do." (bare, Or well-mouth'd Booth with emphasis proclaims

Then, by ihe rule that made the horse-tail Tho' but, perhaps, a muster-roll of names,) I pluck out year by year, as hair by hair, How will our fathers rise up in a rage, And melt down antients like a heap of snow, lund swear all shame is lost in George's age! While you, to measure merits, look in Stowe; You'd think no fools disgrac'd the former reign, And, estimating authors by the year,

Did not some grave examples yet remain, Bestow a garland only on a bier

(bill Who scorn a lad shonld teach his father skill, Shakspeare (whom you and ev'ry playhouse And, having once been wrong, will be so sull. Siyle the divine, the natchless, what you will) He, who to seen more deep ihan you or I, For gain, not glory, wingid his roving Aiglit, Extols old barus, or Merlin's prophecy, And grew immortal in his own despire. Mistake him not; he envies, noi admires; Ben, old and poor, as little secu'd io heed And, to dlebase the sons, exalts the sires. The life to come, in ev'ry poci's creed.

Had antient times conspird to disallow Who now reads Cowley? If he pleases yet, Ithat then was new, what had been antient His moral pleases, not his pointer wit; Or what remain'd so werthy to be read [now? Forgot his epic, nay Pindaric art!

By learned critics of the mighty dead? But still I love the language of his heart. I In days of ease, when now the weary sword

" Yet surely, surely, these were famous men! Was sheath'd, and luxury with Charles restor'd; " What boy but hears the savings of old Ben? In ev'ry taste of forcign courts improv'd, “ In all debates where critics bear a part, " All, by the king's example, livd and lov'd." "Not one but nods, and talks of Jonson's art, Then peers grew proud in horsemanship t'ex"Of Shakspeare's nature, and of Cowley's wit; Newmarket's glors rose, as Britain's fell ; cel; " How Beaumont's judgernent checkd what The soldier breath'd the gallantries of France, .“ Fletcher writ;

And ev'ry flow'ry courtier writ Romance, • How Shadwell hasty, M velierly was slow, Then marble, soften'd into life, grew warm; " But, for the passions, Southern sure and Rowe. And yielding inetal flow'd to human forin : -- Thege, only these, support the crowded stage, Lely on animated canvas stole "From cldest Heywood down to Cibber's age.” The sleepy eye that spoke the melting soul.

All this may be, the people's voice is orld; No wonder then, when all was love aud sport, It is, and it is not, the voice of God.

The willing Muses were debauch'd at court: To Gammer Gurton if it gives the bays, On each onervare string they taught the note And yet deny the Careless Ilusband praise, To pani or trepible thro' an eunuch's throat. Or say, our fathers never broke a rule; 1 But Britain, changeful as a child at play, Why then, I say, the public is a fool.

Now calls in princes, and now turns away. But let them own that greater faults than we Now Whig, now Tory, what we lor'd we hate; They had, and grcater virtues, I'll agree. Now all for pleasure, now for church and state; Spencer himself inspects the obsolete,

Now for prerogative, and now for laws; And Sydney's verse halıs ill on Roman feet : Effects unhappy! from a noble cause. Milton's strong pinion now not heavencanbound, Tiine was, a sober Englishman would knock Now, serpent-like, in prose hesweeps the ground; His servants up, and rise by five o'clock, In quibbles, angel and archangel joining

Instruct his family in ev'ry rule, And God the Father turns a school-divine. And soud his wife to church, his son to school Not that I'd lop the beauties from his book. To worship like his Fathers was his care; Like flashing Bentley, with his desp'rate hook;To teach their frugal virtues to his heir; Or damn all Shakspeare, like th' ailected fool To prove, that luxury could never hold; Al court, who hates whate'er he reaci at school. And place, on good security, his gold.

But for the wits of either Charles's days, Now times are chang'd, and one poetic itch The mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease; Has seis'd the court and city, poor and rich : Sprat, Carew, Sedley, and a hundred more Sons, sires, and grandsires, all will wear the bars, (Like twinkling stars the miscellanies o'er), Our wives read Milton, and our daughters plays

To theatres and to rehearsals throng; | Verse cheers their leisure, verse assists their work, And all our grace at table is a song!

Verse pravs for peace, or sings down Pope and I, who so oft renounce the Muses, lie;

Turk. Not 's self e'er tells more fils than I : The silenc'd preacher vields to poient strain, When, sick of muse, our follies we deplore, land feels that grace his pray'r besought in vain; And promise our best friends to rhyme no more. The blessing tills thro' all the lab'ring throng, We wake next morning in a raging 6t,

Aud heaven is won by violence of song. And call for pen and ink to show our wit. 1 Our rural ancestors, with little blesi,

He seri'd a 'prenticeship who sets up shop; Patient of labor when the end was rest, Ward tried on puppies, and the poor, his drop; Indulu'd lhe dar that hou'd their annual grain Even Radcliffe's doctors travel first to France, Wich feasts and oil'rings, and a thaykiul strain : Nor dare to practise till they've leam'd to dance. The joy their wivesihoir sons, and servants share,

Tho builds a bridge that never drove a pile? Ease of their toil, and partners of their care: (Should Ripley venture, all the world would The larigh, the jest, attendants oa the boul.. smile.)

Smooth'd ev'ry brow, and open'd ev'ry soul : But those who cannot write, and those who can, With growing years the pleasing license grew, All rhyme, and scrawl, and scribble to a man. | And taunts alternate innocently flew.

Yet Sir, reflect, the mischict is not great; But times corrupt, and nature ill-inclin'd, These madmen nerer hurt the church or state ; | Produc'd the point that left the sting behind ; Sometimes the folly benefits mankind; |Till friend with friend, and families at strife, And rarely arrice taints the tuneful mind. | Triumphant malice rång'd thro'private life. Allow hina bat his plaything of a pen,

Who fclt the wrong, or feard it, took th'alarm, Hle ne'er rebels, nor plots, like other men : Appeald to law, and justice lent her arm. . Flight of cashiers, or mobs, he'll never minda Ailength by whoksome dread of statutes bound, And knows no lusses while the muse is kind. The poets learn'd to please, and not to wound: To cheat a friend, or ward, he leaves to Peter, Most warp'd to flatt'ry's side ; but some, more The good man heaps up nothing but mere metre; Preserv'd the freedom, and forbore the vice. (nice, Enjoys his garden and his book in quiet; llence Satire rose, that just the medium hit, And then a perfect herniit in luis diet. Anul heals with morals what it herts by wit. Of litue use the man you inay suppose,

We conquer'd France, but felt our captive's Who says in verse what others say iu prose :

charins ; Yet let ine show, a poet's of some weight, Her arts victorious triumph'd o'er our arms; And (tho' no soldier) useful to the state. Britain to soft refinement less a foe, What will a child learn sooner than a song? Wit grew polite, and numbers learn'd to flow. What better teach a foreigner the tongue, Waller wassmooth; but Dryden taught to join What's long,or short, each accent where to place. The varying verse, the full resounding line, And speak in public with some sort of grace? Tlie long majestic march, and energy divine. I scarce can think him such a worthless thing, Tho' still some traces of our rustic vein Unless he praise some monster of a king; Ansplayfoot verse remaind and will remain ; Or virtue or religion turn to sport,

Late, very late, correctness grew our care, To please a lewd or unbelieving court.

When the tir'd nation breath'd from civil war. Unhappy Dryden! in all Charles' days, Exact Racine, and Corneille's noble fire, Roscommon only boasts unspotted bays; Sholvidos that France had something to admire! And in our own (excuse from courtly stains) Not but the tragic spirit was onir own, Nowhiter page than Addison reinains. And full in Shakspeare, fair in Otway shone : He from the taste obscene reclaims our youth, But Otway fail'd io polish or refine, And sets the passions on the side of truth; | And Aueni Shakspeare scarce effac'd a line. Forms the soft bosom with the gentlest art, Even copious Dryden wanted, or forgoi, And pours each human virtue in the heart. Tha last and grcatest art, the art to blot. Let Ireland tell, how wit upheld her cause, Some doubt if equal pains or equal fire Her trade supported, and supplied lier laws; The humbler muse of comedy require. And leave on Swift this grateful verse engrav'd : But, in known images of life, I guess " The rights a court attack'd, a poet sav'd.” The labor greater, as th' inchulgence less. Behold the hand that wrought a nation's cure, Observe how seldom even the best succeed: Stretch'd to relieve the idiot and the poor, Tell me if Congreve's Fools are fools indeed? Proad vice to brand, or injur'd worth adorn, What pert low dialogue has Farquhar writ! And streteh the ray to ages vet unborn. How Van wants grace who never wanted wit! Not hut there are who merit other palms; The stage how loosely does Astrea tread, HopkinsandSternhold glad the heart with psalms: Who fairly puts all characters to bed! The boys and girls whom charity maintains, And idle Cibber, how he breaks the laws, Implore your help in these pathetic strains.: To make poor Pinkey eat with vast applause! How could devotion touch ihe country pews, But fill their purse, our poets' work is done; L'nless the Gods bestow'd a proper musc? Alike to themi, by Pathos or by Pun.

S3

O you!

you! whom vanity's light bark conveys The season when to come and when to go,
On fame's mad voyage by the wind of praise, To sing or cease tossing, we never know;
With what a shifting gale your course you ply, And, if we will recite nine hours in ten,
For ever sunk too low, or borne too high!" You lose your patience just like other men.
Who pants for glory finds but short repose; Then too we hurt ourselves, when, to defend
A breath revives hiin, or a breath o'erthrow's. A single verse, we quarrel with a friend;
Farewell thc stage! if, just as thrives the play, Repeat unask`d; lament, the wit's too fine
The silly bard grows fat, or falls away.

For vulgar eyes, and point out ev'ry line.
There still remains, to mortify a wit,

But most when, straining with too weak a wing, The many-headed monster of the Pit; We needs will write epistles to the King; A senseless, worthless, and unhonor'd crowd, | And from the moment we oblige the town, Who, to disturb their betters mighty proud, Expect a place, or pension from the Crown ; Clatt'ring their sticks before ten lines are spoke, Or dubb'di Historians by express command, Call for the Farce, the Bear, or the Black Joke. T'evroll your triumphis o'er the seas and land; What dear delight to Britons farce affords! Be callid to Court to plan some work divine, Ever the taste of mobs, but now of lords As once, for Louis, Boileau, and Racine. (Taste, that eternal wanderer! which Aies Yet think, great Sir! (so many virtues shown) From heads to ears, and now from ears to eyes)! Ah think what Poet best may make them known! The play stands still! damu action and discourse, Or choose at least some Minister of Grace, Back fly the scenes, and epter foot and horse ; Fit to bestow the Laureat's weighty place. Pageants on pageants, in long order drawn, | Charles, to late times to be transmittee fair, Peers, heralds, bishops, ermine, gold, and lawn; Assign'd his figure to Bernini's care; The champion too! and, to coniplete the jest, And great Nassau to Kueller's hand decreed Old Edward's armor beans on Cibber's breast. To fix him graceful on the bounding steed; With laughter sure Democritus had died, So well in paint and stone they judg'd of merit: Had he beheld an audience gape so wide. But Kings in Wit may want discerning Spirit. Let bear or elephant be e'er so white,

The Hero William, and the Martyr Charles, The people, sure the people, are the sight! One knighted Blackmore, and one pension'd Ah, luckless poet! stretch thy lungs and roar,

Quarles; That bear or elephant shall heel thee more; Which made old Ben and surly Dennis swear, While all its throats the gallery extends, “No Lord's anointed, but a Russian Bear." And all the thunder of the piť a-cends! Not with such majesty, such bold relief, Loud as the wolves, on Orcas' stormy stcep, The forins august of King or conq'ring Chief Howl to the roarings of the northern deep, E'er swellid on marble, as in verse hare shin'd Such is the shout, the long-applauding note, (In polish'd verse) the Manners and the Mind. At Quin's high plume, or Oldfield's petticoat : Oh! could I mount on the Mæonian wing, Or when from Court a birth-day suit bestow'd Your Arms, your Actious, your Repose to sing ! Sinks the lost Actor in the tawdry load. What seas you travers d, and what fields you Booth enters -- hark! the universal peal! : I fought!

[bought ! "But has he spoken?" Not a syllable. Your country's peace how oft, how dearly “What shook the stage,and madeihepeoplestare?" How barb'rouse rage subsided at your word, Cato'slong wig, flower'd gown,andlacquer dchair. And nations wonder'd while they dropp'd the Yet, lest you think I rally more than teach, T

s word!
Or praise malignly arts I cannot reach, How when you nodded, o'er the land and deep
Let me for once presume t'instruct the times, Peace stole her wing, and wrapp'd the world in
To kuow the Poet from the man of rhymes :

sleep;
"Tis he who gives my breast a thousand pains, Till earth's extremes your mediation own,
Can make me feel each passion that he feigns; And Asia's Tyrants tremble at your Throne.
Enrage, compose, with more than magic art, | But V'erse! alas ! vour Majesty disdains;
With pity and with terror tear my heart; And I'm not used to Panegyric strains :
And snatch me o'er the earth, or ihro' the air, The Zeal of Fools offends at any time,
To Tliebes, to Athens, when he will, and where. But most of all the Zeal of Fools in rhyme.
But not this part of the poetic state

Besides, a fate attends on all I write;
Alone deserves the favor of the Great :

That, when I aim at praise, they say I bite. Think of those Authors, Sir, who would rely A vile Encomium doubly ridicules : More on a Reader's sense, than Gazer's eye. There's nothing blackens like the ink of fools. Or who shall wander where the Wrises sing? If true, a woeful likeness; and is lies, Who climb their mountain, or who taste their “ Praise undeservd is satire in disguise :" How shall we fill a library with wit, [spring? Well may he blush who gives it or receives; When Merlin's cave is half unfurnish'al vet? And, when I flatter, let my dirty leaves My Liege! why writers little claim your thought, (Like Journals, Odes, and such forgotten things I guess; and, with their leave, will tell the fault: As Eusden, Philips, Settle, writ of Kings) We Poets are (upon a Poct's word)

Clothe spice, line trunks, or futt'ring in a row Of all mankind the creatures most absurd : Befringe the rails of Bedlam and Soho.

EPISTLE

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