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Had you tax'd every thing for chink
But Paper, and beloved drink,
We'd kept at Rays, and ſuck'd our faces
And you'd in quiet took your places,

For Heav'ns fake Gentlemen conſider,
How much the Preface to the Reader,
Graces a Book, and makes it ſhow,
Fit for the eys of Senate-Beau.
Now on our Souls, if Tax on Paper,
Be'nt laid on Mercer, or on Draper,
We cant afford a line, to beg in,
And to your Honours make a Leg in,
Which (if you pleaſe to think upon't)
Will be eſteem'd no ſmll affront,
And all the while the faults not oars.
But ſomewhere comes from higher Powers,
If Mault be not like wiſe reduc'd
To the fame Standard as it uſ'd,
'Sliſe Sirs our fancies needs muſt fail,
For want of Cup of Mild and Stale
Ard ſingle Mug of Derby Ale.
T-B- and Settles fancies flag,
And W-ds who wrote the Trip and Drag.
And alſo he bewails your hand hard
Who wrote betwixt the Flag and Standard
And every Scribler Lays the fault
On the laſt Taxes upon Mault,
Good Sirs Conſider how to raiſe
The ſum by other means and ways,
And Poets, Stationers, and Brewers,
Shall e're bepfbnd of being Yours,
Particularly we ſhall ne're be
Forgetfull over heavenly Derby,
And
as we are Duty Bound,

                     Shall Ever pay,

                           as Glaſs goes round.

                     FlNIS.