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Each rivals the other in powers

Each waltzes, each warbles, each paints Miss Rose, chiefly tumble-down towers;

Miss Do., perpendicular saints. In short, to distinguish is folly;

'Twixt the pair, I am come to the pass Of Macheath between Lucy and Polly

Or Buridan's ass.

If it happens that Rose I have singled

For a soft celebration in ryhme, Then the ringlets of Dora get mingled

Somehow with the tune and the time; Or I painfully pen me a sonnet

To an eyebrow intended for Do.'s, And behold! I am writing upon it

The legend, “To Rose."

Or I try to draw Dora (my blotter

Is all overscrawled with her head); If I fancy at last that I've got her,

It turns to her rival instead;

Or I find myself placidly adding

To the rapturous tresses of Rose Miss Dora's bud-mouth, and her madding,

Ineffable nose.

Was there ever so sad a dilemma ?

For Rose I would perish (pro tem.); For Dora I'd willingly stem a

(Whatever might offer to stem); But to make the invidious election

To declare that on either one's side I've a scruple—a grain more affection,

I can not decide.

And as either so hopelessly nice is,
My sole and

my

final resource Is to wait some indefinite crisis

Some feat of molecular force,
To solve me this riddle, conducive

By no means to peace or repose,
Since the issue can scarce be inclusive

Of Dora and Rose.

Each rivals the other in powers

Each waltzes, each warbles, each paintsMiss Rose, chiefly tumble-down towers;

Miss Do., perpendicular saints. In short, to distinguish is folly ;

'Twixt the pair, I am come to the pass Of Macheath between Lucy and Polly

Or Buridan's ass.

If it happens that Rose I have singled

For a soft celebration in ryhme, Then the ringlets of Dora get mingled

Somehow with the tune and the time; Or I painfully pen me a sonnet

To an eyebrow intended for Do.'s, And behold! I am writing upon it

The legend, “ To Rose."

Or I try to draw Dora (my blotter

Is all overscrawled with her head); If I fancy at last that I've got her,

It turns to her rival instead ;

Or I find myself placidly adding

To the rapturous tresses of Rose Miss Dora's bud-mouth, and her madding,

Ineffable nose.

Was there ever so sad a dilemma?

For Rose I would perish (pro tem.); For Dora I'd willingly stem a

(Whatever might offer to stem); But to make the invidious election

To declare that on either one's side I've a scruple—a grain more affection,

I can not decide.

And as either so hopelessly nice is,

My sole and my final resource
Is to wait some indefinite crisis-

Some feat of molecular force,
To solve me this riddle, conducive

By no means to peace or repose,
Since the issue can scarce be inclusive

Of Dora and Rose.

Each rivals the other in powers

Each waltzes, each warbles, each paints Miss Rose, chiefly tumble-down towers;

Miss Do., perpendicular saints. In short, to distinguish is folly;

'Twixt the pair, I am come to the pass Of Macheath between Lucy and Polly

Or Buridan's ass.

If it happens that Rose I have singled

For a soft celebration in ryhme, Then the ringlets of Dora get mingled

Somehow with the tune and the time; Or I painfully pen me a sonnet

To an eyebrow intended for Do.'s, And behold! I am writing upon it

The legend, “ To Rose.”

Or I try to draw Dora (my blotter

Is all overscrawled with her head); If I fancy at last that I've got her,

It turns to her rival instead ;

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