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Show LAY OF THE CHIEF COOK. Breathes thero the man with soul so depraved That he never for Quaker Oats hath craved! If such there breathe ko mark him well ; For him no gastric raptures swell. Hih though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim: Despite those titles, power and pelf, Tho wretch concentrated nil iu self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown. And doubly dylnsr. shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung Unwept, unhonor'd and unsung. O, Quaker Oats, sweet and mild. Meet food for a poetic child ; Oats of my yuaker sires 1 W hat mortal hand Can e'er untie the lllial band That kuits me to this food so grand? |