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The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore

Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes
  

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How I manag'd, at last, this great deed to achieve,
Is itself a “Romaunt” which you'd scarce, dear, believe;
Nor can I just now, being all in a whirl,
Looking out for the Magnet , explain it, dear girl.
Suffice it to say, that one half the expense
Of this leasehold of fame for long centuries hence—
(Though “God knows,” as aunt says, my humble ambition
Aspires not beyond a small Second Edition,)—

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One half the whole cost of the paper and printing,
I've manag'd, to scrape up, this year past, by stinting
My own little wants in gloves, ribands, and shoes,
Thus defrauding the toilet to fit out the Muse!
 

A day-coach of that name.