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But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.
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I am obnoxious to each carping tongue Who says my hand a needle better fits,...
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O Time the fatal wrack of mortal things, That draws oblivion's curtains over kings;
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Nor youth, nor strength, nor wisdom spring again, Nor habitations long their names retain, But in oblivion to the final day remain.
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If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.
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