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English Satires
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Chapter 134 134

We shall march prospering,-not thro' his presence;

Songs may inspirit us,-not from his lyre;

Deeds will be done,-while he boasts his quiescence,

Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire.

Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,

One task more declined, one more footpath untrod,

One more devil's-triumph and sorrow f

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