This pen of mine is simply grand, I never loved a pen so much; This paper (underneath my hand) Is really a delight to touch; And never in my life, I think, Did I make use of finer ink.
The subject upon which I write Is ev'rything that I could choose; I seldom knew my wits more bright, More cosmopolitan my views; Nor ever did my head contain So surplus a supply of brain!
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