What another Poet did.
Another expounder of life's thorny mazes
Excited our pity at fortune's hard fare,
And troubled the city's most troublesome places,
While singing his ditty of "Nothing to Wear."
"A tale worth the telling,"' though I tell for the same,
Great objects of pity we see in the street,
"With nothing to wear, though a legion by name,
Is not to buy clothing, but something to eat.
How the Author sometimes Dines.
And now by your leave I will try to expound it,
In truth as it is and the way that I found it.
My dinner, sometimes, like things transcendental
And things more substantial, like women and wine
A thing is, uncertain, and quite accidental,
And sometimes I wonder, "Oh! where shall I dine?"
It was when reflecting one evening of late,
What tavern or hotel or dining-room skinner,
With table cloth dirty and dirtier plate,
Would give me a nausea and call it a dinner,
I met with Jack Merdle, a name fully known
As good for a million in Stock-gamblers' Street,
Where none but a nabob or forger high flown
With "bulls" or with "bears" need look for a seat.
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