Vicar and Moses.
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AT the sign of the horse, old Spintext of course
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Each night took his pipe and his Pot,
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[O']er a jorum of nappy, quite pleasant and happy
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Was placd this canonical [s]ot. Tol lol, etc.
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The evening was dark, when in came the clerk,
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With reverence due, and submission,
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First stroked his cravat, then twirld round his hat
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And bowing prefer'd his petition.
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Im come, sir, says he, to beg, look, do you see,
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Of your reverend worship and glory,
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To inter a poor baby with as much speed as may be,
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And Ill walk with the lanthorn before you.
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The body well bury, but pray wheres the hurry,
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Why Lord, sir, the corpse it does stay;
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You fool hold your peace, since miracles cease,
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A corpse, Moses, cant run away.
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Then Moses he smild, saying, sir, a small child,
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Cannot long delay your intentions,
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Why thats true, by St. Paul, a child that is small,
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Can never enlarge its dimensions.
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Bring Moses some beer, and bring me some do you
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hear,
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I hate to be calld from my liquor,
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Come, Moses, the king, tis a scanadlous thing,
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Such a subject should be but a vicar.
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Then Moses he spoke, sir, tis past twelve oclock,
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Besides theres a terrible shower,
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Why Moses you elf, since the clock has struck twelve,
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Im sure it can never strike more.
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Besides [m]y dear friend, this lesson attend,
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Which to say and to swear Ill be bold,
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That the corpse, snow or rain, cant endanger thats plain,
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But perhaps you or I may take cold.
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Then Moses went on, sir, the clock has struck one,
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Pray master look up at the hand,
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Why it neer can strike less, tis a folly to press,
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A man for to go that cant stand.
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At length hat and cloak old Orthodox took,
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But first crammd his jaw with a quid.
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Each tipt off a gill, for fear they should chill,
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And then staggerd away side by side.
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When come to the grave, the clerk hummd a stave,
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Whilst the surplice was wrappd round the priest,
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Where so droll was the figure of Moses and vicar,
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That the parish still talk of the jest.
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Good people lets pray, put the corpse tother way,
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Or perchance I shall over it stumble,
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Tis best to take care, tho the sages declare,
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A' Mortuum caput cant tremble.
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Woman thats of man born, thats wrong the leaves torn,
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Oh! man that is born of a woman,
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Cant continue an hour, but is cut down like a flowr
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You see, Moses, death spareth no man.
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Here, Moses, do look, what a confounded book,
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Sure the letters are turnd upside down.
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Such a scandalous print, sure the devil is int
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Thas this Basket should print for the crown.
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Prithee Moses you read, for I cannot proceed,
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And bury the corpse in my stead, Amen. Amen.
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Moses, youre wrong, pray hold still your tongue,
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Youve taken the tail for the head.
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O wheres thy sting death, but the corpse in the earth
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For believe me tis terrible weather
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So the corpse was interrd without praying a word.
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And away they both
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