FROM those drear solitudes and frowsy cells,
Where Infamy with sad Repentance dwells;
Where turnkeys make the jealous portal fast,
And deal from iron hands the spare repast;
...
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The idiot strum of Vanity bemus'd,
And even the abuse of Poesy abus'd? —
Who called her verse a Parish Workhouse, made
For motley foundling Fancies, stolen or strayed? .. very fine poem. tony
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The idiot strum of Vanity bemus'd, And even the abuse of Poesy abus'd? — Who called her verse a Parish Workhouse, made For motley foundling Fancies, stolen or strayed? .. very fine poem. tony