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That press'd it, and the feet hung dangling down, Anxious in vain to find the distant floor.

These for the rich the rest, whom fate had plac'd
In modest mediocrity, content

With base materials, sat on well-tann'd hides,
Obdurate and unyielding, glassy smooth,
With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn,
Or scarlet crewel, in the cushion fixt;

If cushion might be call'd, what harder seem'd
Than the firm oak of which the frame was form'd.
No want of timber then was felt or fear'd

In Albion's happy isle. The umber stood
Pond'rous and fixt by its own massy weight.
But elbows still were wanting; these, some say,
An alderman of Cripplegate contriv’'d;
And some ascribe th' invention to a priest
Burly and big, and studious of his ease.
But, rude at first, and not with easy slope
Receding wide, they press'd against the ribs,
And bruis'd the side; and, elevated high,
Taught the rais'd shoulders to invade the ears.
Long time elaps'd or e'er our rugged sires
Complain'd, though incommodiously pent in,
And ill at ease behind. The ladies first

'Gan murmur, as became the softer sex.
Ingenious fancy, never better pleas'd

Than when employ'd t' accommodate the fair,
Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devis'd
The soft settee; one elbow at each end,
And in the midst an elbow, it receiv'd,
United yet divided, twain at once.

So sit two kings of Brentford on one throne;
And so two citizens who take the air,

Close pack'd, and smiling, in a chaise and one.
But relaxation of the languid frame,

By soft recumbency of outstretch'd limbs,
Was bliss reserv'd for happier days. So slow
The growth of what is excellent: so hard
T' attain perfection in this nether world.
Thus first necessity invented stools,
Convenience next suggested elbow-chairs,
And luxury th' accomplish'd sora last.

The nurse sleeps sweetly, hir'd to watch the sick," Whom snoring she disturbs. As sweetly he Who quits the coach-box at the midnight hour

To sleep within the carriage more secure,

Paradise Lost, Book iv. 641 to 656.

His legs depending at the open door.
Sweet sleep enjoys the curate in his desk,
The tedious rector drawling o'er his head;
And sweet the clerk below. But neither sleep
Of lazy nurse, who snores the sick man dead,
Nor his who quits the box at midnight hour
To slumber in the carriage more secure,
Nor sleep enjoy'd by curate in his desk,
Nor yet the dozings of the clerk, are sweet,
Compar'd with the repose the SOFA yields.

THE

MAN OF THE PEOPLE.

MAN praises man. The rabble, all alive,
From tippling-benches, cellars, stalls, and styes,
Swarm in the streets. The statesman of the day,
A pompous and slow-moving pageant, comes.
Some shout him, and some hang upon his car,
To gaze in 's eyes, and bless him.
Maidens wave

Their 'kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy:
While others, not so satisfied, unhorse

The gilded equipage, and, turning loose

His steeds, usurp a place they well deserve.

Why? what has charm'd them? Hath he say'd the

state?

No. Doth he purpose its salvation? No.

THE

DIVERTING HISTORY

OF

JOHN GILPIN;

SHEWING HOW HE WENT FARTHER THAN HE INTENDED,

AND CAME SAFE HOME AGAIN.

JOHN GILPIN was a citizen

Of credit and renown,
A train-band captain cke was he

Of famous London town.

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear-
Though wedded we have been

These twice ten tedious years, yet we

No holiday have scen.

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