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His fancy soars on most ungoverned wing –
He deems all Kings are like our England's King!
And Howley – he's a bishope – stakes his word
No moral saint can reach our Sovereign lord –
And Blackstone – (who shall say shut Blackstone he's?)
Told us in Anno's time, Our king never dies –
Tho' she died then, – & others had been ill,
Mad, moody – long before – & are so still.
Yet who shall doubt when Blackstone or when Howley
Pledge their Makes his proud fame – Your democratic folly
Trenches upon their wisdom – you rebel
Gainst those who are the lords of earth & hell –
And can – with one slight whisper – hang you here
And send you to condign damnation there!
Identifier: | JB/110/210/001 "JB/" can not be assigned to a declared number type with value 110.
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110 |
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210 |
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001 |
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collectanea |
1 |
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recto |
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sir john bowring |
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36200 |
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