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The others young, (a whipping bought his passe)
Not borne a Beggar as the other was:
He's chang'd from top to toe; he feeles no smart
His arme's restor'd, his sores were made by Art.
But looking towar'ds the right, I did espie
A Doxie lately bottom'd, which did cry

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Salva the King of Beggers! let the rest
In bowsing Kenadoes be ever blest!
Then altogether they began to prate
Of Citie businesses, of Church, and State,
Where they should beg to morrow, such a place
Brings in most coine, the other gives more grace
To our endeavours: Fleet-street shall be thine,
Turn-style is his, the Temple-lane is mine.