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A Dog lay sleeping at his Master's Gate,
And never dreamt of his approaching Fate;
When his old Enemy, a Wolf, came near,
Just nick'd the Time, and took him napping there.
In this Surprize, the Dog for Life begg'd hard,
And gave this Reason why he shou'd be spar'd:
I have been lately under a Decay,
Brought very low, and strangely fall'n away;
And now, alas! my Flesh so slowly grows,
'Tis Carrion yet, and only fit for Crows:
But my good Master will at Easter Wed,
And then I shall be plentifully fed;

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Then you will find me most delicious Meat,
And fit for you, or any Wolf, to eat:
If then you please to wait that lucky Hour,
You may your Servant, so improv'd, devour.
The Wolf believ'd him, and dismiss'd his Prey,
And came again at the appointed Day:
He found the Dog, not Sleeping, as before,
But standing on his Guard within the Door:
Isgrim desir'd him to make good his Word;
But Spot this Answer only wou'd afford:
When next you catch me sleeping at the Gate,
Good Mr. Wolf, for no more Bridals wait.