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    An Author's Bedchamber

    by Oliver Goldsmith
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    WHERE the Red Lion flaring o'er the way,
    Invites each passing stranger that can pay;
    Where Calvert's butt, and Parsons' black champagne,
    Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane;
    There in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug, 5
    The Muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug;
    A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray,
    That dimly show'd the state in which he lay;
    The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread;
    The humid wall with paltry pictures spread: 10
    The royal game of goose was there in view,
    And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew;
    The seasons, fram'd with listing, found a place,
    And brave prince William show'd his lamp-black face:
    The morn was cold, he views with keen desire 15
    The rusty grate unconscious of a fire;
    With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scor'd,
    And five crack'd teacups dress'd the chimney board;
    A nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay,
    A cap by night--a stocking all the day! 20

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