Upon One who stiled himself a Great Master of the Easy Poetry
Tom Jingle 's Rivers murmur as they go,
But cold and weak as native Fountains flow;
That they should murmur on , I think it fit;
For who could rest contented with their Wit?
But cold and weak as native Fountains flow;
That they should murmur on , I think it fit;
For who could rest contented with their Wit?
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