89. To Cinna -

C INNA , you whisper in one's ear
The things that all the world might hear,
You laugh, complain, dispute, and moan
As if 'twere for one ear alone;
Your silence — aye your clamour — wear
A whispering and furtive air;
'Tis thus with songs, opinions too;
Has this disease so mastered you
That when all loyal subjects sing,
You merely hum " God save the King."?

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