They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. " "I could make a fine sketch of him now," whispered Hogarth to Gay. By this time, several of the terrified domestics appeared with lights. Ain’t enough as I’ve got militiamen quartered on me this se’ennight, lazing about all day, eating me out of house and home and drinking my liquor into the bargain. “What do you think of that?” he asked. So it is that I do not do these things.
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