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THE ROSCIAD.
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Eager to touch up some new comic scene,Lay happily conceal'd behind a screen. 370Sh–t–r,who never car'd a single pinWhether he left out nonsense or put in,Who aim'd at wit, though, levell'd in the dark,The random arrow seldom hit the mark,At Islington, all by the placid stream. 375Where city swains in lap of Dullness dream,Where, quiet as her strains, their strains do flow,That all the patron by the bards may know;Secret as night, with R–lt's experienc'd aid,The plan of future operations laid, 380Projected schemes, the summer-months to chear,And spin out happy Folly thro' the year.
But think not, though these dastard chiefs are fled,That C–ve–nt-G–rd–n troops shall want an head:Harlequin comes their chief!—See, from afar, 385The heroe seated in fantastic car!Wedded to Novelty, his only armsAre wooden swords, wands, talismans, and charms.On one side Folly sits, by some call'd Fun,And, on the other, his arch-patron Lun. 390Behind, for Liberty a-thirst in vain,Sense, helpless captive, drags the galling chain.

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