![]() Corinna, Pride of Drury-Lane, For whom no Shepherd sighs in vain Never did Covent Garden boast So bright a batter'd, strolling Toast No drunken Rake to pick her up, No Cellar where on Tick to sup Returning at the Midnight Hour Four Stories climbing to her Bow'r Then, seated on a three-legg'd Chair, Takes off her artificial Hair: Now, picking out a Crystal Eye, She wipes it clean, and lays it by.
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