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I sing the SOFA. I who lately sang Truth, Hope, and Charity *, and touch'd with awe The folemn chords, and with a trembling hand, Escap'd with pain from that advent'rous flight, Now seek repose upon an humbler theme; The theme though humble, yet august and proud Th’occasion--for the Fair commands the song.

Time was, when cloathing sumptuous or for use, Save their own painted skins, our sires had none. As

yet black breeches were not ; fattin smooth,

* See vol. i,




Or velvet soft, or plush with shaggy pile :
The hardy chief upon the rugged rock
Wash'd by the sea, or on the grav’ly bank
Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring loud,
Fearless of wrong, repos'd his weary strength.
Those barb'rous ages past, succeeded next
The birth-day of invention, weak at first,
Dull in design, and clumsy to perform.
Joint-stools were then created; on three legs
Upborne they stood. Three legs upholding firm
A masly Nab, in fashion square or round.
On such a stool immortal Alfred fat,
And sway'd the sceptre of his infant realms;
And such in ancient halls and mansions drear
May still be seen, but perforated fore
And drill'd in holes the solid oak is found,
By worms voracious eating through and through.

At length a generation more refin'd Improv'd the simple plan, made three legs four,

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