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IX.

The frighted beast ran on—but here,

(No tale, tho' in print, more true is)
My Muse stops short in mid career—
Nay, gentle reader! do not sneer!
I cannot choose but drop a tear,
A tear for good old Lewis!

X.

The frighted beast ran through the town;

All follow'd, boy and dad,
Bull-dog, Parson, Shopman, Clown:
The Publicans rush'd from the Crown,
"Halloo! hamstring him! cut him down!"
They drove the poor Ox mad.

XI.

Should you a Rat to madness teize,

Why e'en a Rat may plague you:
There's no Philosopher but sees
That Rage and Fear are one disease—
Though that may burn and this may freeze,
They're both alike the Ague.