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A Sentimental Journey They order, said I, this matter better in France You have been in France? said my gentleman, turning quick upon me with the most civil triumph in the worldStrange! quoth I, debating the matter with myself, That one and twenty miles sailing, for tis absolutely no further from Dover to Calais, should give a man these rightsIll look into them: so giving up the argumentI went straight to my lodgings, put up half a dozen shirts and a black pair of silk breechesthe coat I have on, said I, looking at the sleeve, will dotook a place in the Dover stage; and the packet sailing at nine the next morning1by three I had got sat down to my dinner upon a fricaseed chicken, so incontestibly in France, that had I died that night of an indigestion, the whole world could not have suspended the effects of the Droits daubaine2my shirts, and black pair of silk breechesportmanteau and all must have gone to the king of Franceeven the little picture which I have so long worn, and so often have told thee, Eliza,3 I would carry with me unto my grave, would have been torn from my neckUngenerous!to seize upon the wreck of an unwary passenger, whom your subjects had beckond to their coastby heaven! Sire, it is not well done; and much does it grieve me, tis the monarch of a people so civilized and courteous, and so renownd for sentiment and fine feelings, that I have to reason with But I have scarce set foot in your Dominions |
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