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BY MR. MATTHEW GREEN.
hen I first came to London, I rambled about
Hear a church that can't err if you hope for salvation.
For then you are safe, and may plead you're elect;
While penal law dragons guard his golden fleece,
That ours is the true church, the sense of our tribe is, And surely in medio tutissimus ibis.
Said a yea and nay friend with a stiff hat and band, Who while he talk'd gravely would hold forth his Dominion and wealth are the aim of all three, [hand, Tho' about ways and means they may ali disagree; Then prithee be wise, go the quaker's by-way, Tis plain, without turnpikes, so nothing to pay.
Capricious W- a Sonnet needs must have;
I ne'er was so put to 't before:-A Sonnet! Why, fourteen verses must be spent upon it; 'Tis good howe'er t' have conquer'd the first stave.
Yet I shall ne'er find rhymes enough by half,
Said I, and found myself i' th' midst o' th' second.
Thus far with good success I think I've scribbled,
And of the twice seven lines have clean got o'er ten. Courage! another'll finish the first triplet.
Thanks to thee, muse, my work begins to shorten, There's thirteen lines got through driblet by driblet. 'Tis done! count how you will, I warrant there's fourteen.