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Chapter 18 No.18

Life is a various mother: now she dons

Her plumes and brilliants, climbs the marble stairs

With head aloft, nor ever turns her eyes

On lackeys who attend her; now she dwells

Grim-clad, up darksome allyes, breathes hot gin,

And screams in pauper riot.

But to these

She came a frugal matron, neat and deft,

With cheerful morning

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