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"The tripe," quoth the Jew, with his chocolate cheek, "I could dine on this tripe seven days in a week:
I like these here dinners, so pretty and small;
But your friend there, the Doctor, eats nothing at all." "Oho!" quoth my friend, "he 'll come on in a trice, He's keeping a corner for something that's nice;
There's a Pasty"
a Pasty!" repeated the Jew,
"I don't care if I keep a corner for't to."
“What the De'il, mon, a Pasty!" re-echo'd the Scot, "Though splitting, I'll still keep a corner for that;"
“We 'll all keep a corner," the lady cry'd out;
But we quickly found out, for who could mistake her? – That she came with some terrible news from the baker: And so it fell out; for that negligent sloven,
Had shut out the Pasty on shutting his oven.
Sad Philomel thus but let similes drop
And now that I think on't, the story may stop.
To be plain, my good Lord, it's but labour misplac'd,
You 've got an odd something a kind of discerning -
At least, it's your temper, as very well known,
FIRST JEWISH PROPHET.
FIRST CHALDEAN PRIEST.
SECOND CHALDEAN PRIEST.
CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS.
The Banks of the River Euphrates, near Babylon.
ISRAELITES sitting on the Banks of the Euphrates.
YE captive tribes, that hourly work and weep,
Our God is all we boast below,
And though no temple richly drest,
We'll make his temple in our breast,
And offer up a tear.
[The first stanza repeated by the CHORUS. Second PROPhet.
That strain once more: it bids remembrance rise,
These hills how sweet! those plains how wond'rous fair!
O Memory, thou fond deceiver!
And turning all the past to pain;
Hence, intruder, most distressing,
Seek the happy and the free;
The wretch who wants each other blessing,
Yet, why complain? What, though by bonds confin'd,
Have we not cause for triumph, when we see
The triumphs that on vice attend
The good man suffers but to gain,
No spicy fragrance while they grow,
But hush, my sons! our tyrant lords are near;
Enter CHALDEAN PRIESTS, attended.
Come on, my companions, the triumph display;
The sun calls us out on this festival day,
Like the sun, our great monarch all rapture supplies,
The sun with his splendour illumines the skies,
A Chaldean WOMAN.
Haste, ye sprightly sons of pleasure;
A Chaldean ATTENDANT.
Or rather Love's delights despising,
Wine shall bless the brave and free.
Wine and beauty thus inviting,
Each to different joys exciting,
I'll waste no longer thought in choosing;
But whence, when joy should brighten o'er the land,
The day demands it;
and join our warbling choir;
For who like you can wake the sleeping lyre!
Bow'd down with chains, the scorn of all mankind, To want, to toil, and every ill consign'd,