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WHEN Boys at ETON once a Year
In Military Pomp appear,
He, who juſt trembled at the Rod,
Treads it a HEROE, talks a GOD,
And in an inſtant can create
A DOZEN Officers of State :
His little Legion All aſſail,
Arreſt without Releaſe, or Bail :
Each paſſing Traveller muſt halt,
Muſt pay the Tax, and eat the Salt.
You don't love Salt, you fay------ and ſtorm-----
Look o' theſe Staves, Sir------ and Conform ;
But yet this Sun, that ſhines ſo bright,
In ſable Gown will ſet at Night,
And Morn return with College Appetite.
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