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I believe the world is but one vast receptacle
Outfitted by old Satan to his liking
And tho' at first you may be rather sceptical
You'll own (at least) the analogy is striking
Between that bloody place which is yclept Arkel
Dama – & these red plains where your & my King
Battle it out with their dependent crew
Fiercely – as Angels – fallen Angels – do.
I believe that England is a groaning table-board
Covered with luxuries for the devil's dinner
And that you stout, stern & sleek, & smiling sable board
(They would not let their sovereign herd growst heavier)
Are cooks & caterers – & in all they're able, bor'd
By his rapacity (for the devil's a winner
In all his bargains) serve him day & night –
And cheerful service is her parent dear delight
Identifier: | JB/110/228/001 "JB/" can not be assigned to a declared number type with value 110.
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110 |
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228 |
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001 |
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collectanea |
2 |
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recto |
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sir john bowring |
hutton 1821 |
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1821 |
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36218 |
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