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TO MY DRUMMING CHUM.

AN ODE AFTER THE MANNER OF SWIFT.

I can't bear

Any more

Such a bore.

Darn the fuss!

Hear me cuss.

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"Right you are,"

Comes over your cigar.

That's enough, -

No more guff, -

You just trot!

Though it's not,

As they say,

A cold day,

You'll get left,

Or bereft

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