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TO THE DEVIL.
Sir! Parson Meek says—and I'm bamm'dIf that shows Christian spirit—
That save as flogger of the damn'd,
You've not a spark of merit.
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“When such as he despise you?”
Give us your hand, then! and allow
An old friend to advise you.
Do not, as godliest souls require,
Be always scalding, skelping;
And pickling sinful souls in fire,
Or listening to their yelping.
If when you dance, your merriest hops
Wheel round the young beginner;
If when you choose your whipping tops,
You pick the weakest sinner;
If such sad doings are your jokes,
You'd best relax your rigour,
Or in the eyes of decent folks,
You'll cut a sorry figure;
And by and by, the imps who run,
Through every grade of curship,
And thrive by drowning cats for fun,
Will scorn your honour's worship.
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