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It is battered and tattered,-it little “Where's Troy?" says the poet! Look,avails
under the seat That once it was lacquered, and glistened Is a nest with four eggs,—'tis the favored with nails,
retreat For its leather is cracked into lozenge and Of the Muscovy hen, who has hatched, I square, —
dare swear, Like a canvas by Wilkie,—that old Sedan Quite an army of chicks in that old Sedan chair!
And yet-can't you fancy a face in the It has waited by portals where Garrick frame
has played; Of the window,-some high-headed dam- It has waited by Heidegger's “Grand sel or dame,
Masquerade"; Be-patched and be-powdered, just set by For my Lady Codille, for my Lady the stair,
Bellair, While they raise up the lid of that old It has waited,-and waited, that old Sedan chair?