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Then shifting his side, (as a lawyer knows how)
He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes: But what were his arguments few people know,
For the court did not think they were equally wise,
So his lordship decreed with a grave solemn tone,
Decisive and clear, without one if or butThat, whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, By day-light or candle-light-Eyes should be
ON THE BURNING.
LORD MANSFIELD'S LIBRARY,
TOGETHER WITH HIS MSS., BY THE MOB,
IN THE MONTH OF JUNE 1780,
So then-the Vandals of our isle,
Sworn foes to sense and law,
Than ever Roman saw!
And MURRAY sighs o'er Pope and Swift,
And many a treasure more,
That graced his lettered store.
Their pages mangled, burnt, and torn,
Their loss was his alone;
The burning of his own.
ON THE SAME.
When wit and genius meet their doom
In all devouring flame,
And bid us fear the same.
O’er MURRAY's loss the muses wept,
They felt the rude alarm, Yet bless'd the guardian care that kept
His sacred head from harm.
There memory, like the bee that's fed
From Flora's balmy store, The quintessence of all he read
Had treasured up before.
The lawless herd, with fury blind,
Have done him cruel wrong; The flowers are gone-but still we find
The honey on his tongue.
Thus says the prophet of the Turk,
* It may be proper to inform the reader, that this piece has already appeared in print, having found its way, though with some unnecessary additions by an unknown hand, into the Leeds Journal, without the author's privity.
May taste, whate'er his inclination,