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Show J 1 T " ' "I I Rippling Rhymes I By WALT MASON. lj ' TH E STFMKE j For many years, oh dames and! gents, I've written pomes for twentvt cents, but now I've raised the price"; a quarter now you must unload, if you ' would buy from me nn ode, and naught! less will suffice. My laurel wreath,' the useful lyre that 1 have twanged1 with zealous fire, I've laid upon the shelf; no more shall I endure my' wrongs; If you want helpful, deathless, songs, you'll have to sing- yaurself. My wrongs! I don't know what they are, but In all places, near and far. men talk of wrongs with bile; and Ii don't want to trail along with without a single blawsted wrong I want to be In style. I. am resolved no tyrant's heel shall grind my face or place the' seal of bondage on my brow; and so' my muse has quit her flights; I'll1 stand up for my rights, though I must' scoak the cow. In vain your walling children plead for elegies and odes to read. I've shut off the supply; in vain your wives the cupboards comb to find a madrigal or pome there's nothing there but pie. In vain you rant around and curse because you cannot find a verse to paste inside your hat; until" my wrongs, whate'er they be. have have found a proper remedy, I'll f,ing no more, that's flat. oo |