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Í, being a boy, used thus to count my fingers

"Why 's a priest like a fingerpost, you dunce ?" There was a curious creáture

THE GAP IN THE CLOUDS .

in mine ínn I'll take mine eáse

A double folly how to cook

Said Vinegar-cruet to Mustard-pot once
Tén broad steps there 's tó my ládder
BEERDRINKER'S SONG. UNDER A PICTURE OF GAMBRINUS.

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Sometimes I've with my Muse a miff

Sweet breathes the hawthorn in the early spring

King Will his seat in royal state

Wéll, it is a dárling creáture!

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WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM AT PREDAZZO.

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Once on a time it happened as I was lounging in the Vatican.

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What dog is thát, Sir, tell me, pray

"If well thou wouldst get through this troublesome world" Another and another and another

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Tóngueless thou 'st yét a triple voice, gray lock

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Well now I'm sure I don't know why in the world it was put there 118

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Why paint Deáth the king of térrors? .
There was a time when to our view

"Týrant, I'll have my rights;" I once heard say.

Do good to your friend and hé 'll do good to you
LUCIUS JUNIUS BRUTUS.

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Draw back from the mirror; your image recédes
MY SISTER MARY'S DOG RAP.

CONTENTION BETWEEN NOSE AND EYES FOR THE SPECTACLES.

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There's nothing I so much admire.

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Fróm his shroúd the dead man peéping

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What benéficent Jóve was 't, or Búddh or Osiris.

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TRAY..

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No more questions, good friend, no more questions, I pray 'Tis the little boy låshing his tóp in the coúrt

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'Twas on the First of Jánuary eárly in the morning The són 's a poor, wrétched, unfortunate creáture

You don't like my writings, won't read them nor búy them "I believe it," said Faith, "though I know it's a flát

"Even the Lovely must die" To be sure, Mr. poet

Main Fórce with saw, hátchet and stróng rope achieved
In the height of his glóry said César to Cássius

Sleep and Waking ónce a strife had

While there 's óne drop in the bottle

If rightly on my theme I think

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He's dead these long áges, and áll his bones mouldered.

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That I'm much praised by men of little sense

"Págan, forsáke your Góds," the Christian cries

LETTER RECEIVED FROM A REVIEWER.

"Obéy;" said Majority ónce to Minority

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Beware how you attempt the world to cheat

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"See before thee," said Hópe, "where the pleasant light yónder With pallid lip quívering and fíery eye flashing.

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Pást Time 's dead and gone, and búried, and the réquiem sung óver

HAMLET.

ROMEO AND JULIET.

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TO PROFESSOR GRATZ, ON MY LEAVING CARLSRUHE, Aug. 16, 1855
August the Twénty Thírd, in Tübingen

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TO DOCTOR E. TAFEL, ON MY LEAVING TÜBINGEN, Aug. 31, 1855 "So there 's an énd!" said I, and from the grave

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Ásk me not what her name was ít 's small måtter

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She never in her whole life wrote one stánza
They say I'm óf a Propaganda school

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These verses reád, and, having read, tell me

This world 's so fast progréssing I do not despair to see yet

The coachman drives, the horses draw, the cárriage carries Díves

Wouldst thou convince the doubting world thou 'rt truly .

There are two sisters; óne with bright.

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In Róme's old days of glóry, when a cítizén thought fít
MUSINANDO.

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THE ASTRONOMERS.

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Well to get through this world there 's óne receípt .

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INSCRIPTION FOR A LUCIFER - MATCH BOX. (II).

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Clever people are disagreeable, always taking the advantage of you

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Right for yoú 's wrong for mẻ.

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"Stop! stay! let 's consider!" cried Írresolution

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Summer 's góne fled away with his lílies and róses

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MARBACH.

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Óver hill and plaín and válley

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Rechts steht der Aberglaube, Alles glaubend

CASSANDRA.

Téll me nót how múch thou lov'st me.
I'll not tell thee how I love thee
ANNIVERSARY OF SCHILLER'S BIRTHDAY.

Out of the gráve I took for love thy body
Go tó, that think'st of Time as óf a thíng
ADVICE.

TO JUSTINUS KERNER, THE SUABIAN POET.

Ás in the printed volume every piece.

DIE WEIBERTREUE

Der Abergläub'ge glaubt zu viel .

Warum, mein Kind, sehn'st du dich so nach Oben?
TÜBINGEN.

In the name of Gód we bind thee to this stake

"What's the reáson, Prométheus," once said Epimetheus

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STUTTGART, Nov. 10, 1855

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TO JUSTINUS KERNER, THE SUABIAN POET, ON HIS SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY.
What's this? a cóffined córpse? no, ráther say

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His máster deád, poor Snap with troubled eye
Goéthe, thou sảyst a poem was néver good .

TO A POET ABOUT TO WRITE IN A LADY'S NEW ALBUM.

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So many máps, guides, sígnposts point the way
As I walked by the hedge

QUIVIS AND QUILIBET.

Pleasure líves not one ínstant

Give us beauty we cáre not for strength.

Évery thing tells on crime; the prince that kissed

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The sun shines ón me áll the day

To William, half in jest and half in earnest

Man 's a hámmer, thou sáy'st, made to hámmer hard náture
Shadow 's néver får from súnshine

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That man 's worth millions, but that man 's unworthy.

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As long as thou faithfully lóv'st me.

In this apple 's a core, in that core there's a pippin

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If thou wouldst please the Góds thou must contrive
So it 's húnger and love keep all going
He's not a wise man thinks much of the past
INSCRIPTION FOR THE DOOR OF A CLUB ROOM.

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Farewell for éver, and sometimes a sígh

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Modest, mild, unpreténding, obsérvant, invéntive

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All the good which we see in this world proves God's goódness

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Arabélla my sóng read

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TO FRÄULEIN EMILIA SÜPFLE, CARLSRUHE, Nov. 19, 1855.

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Well! great poets don't álways the bést sense indíte!

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What a pity thou 'rt childless! thou 'dst beén a kind párent

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"There it is, Ma!" said Cúpid, showing Vénus a thórn
Nó! no! nó! I 1 nót believe it
OPTIO JULIANI.

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"When think'st thou will áll men be óf one opinion?"

I ténderly love thee, and plédge thee my tróth

I swear what I knów, that I ténderly love thee
LOVE..

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May I beg to ask whý thou preférrest me, Múse!

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From blank noúght to the womb, from the womb to the crádle

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Of three dear maíds, whose lovely faces

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Bad vérses, Sir póet; there néver were worse

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Here I am, your thimblerígger, kind géntlemen and ládies

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When every one of us has gót his just ríghts

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The great Róman dictátor, his báldness to hide

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All Césars since Július have worn the laur'l wreath

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