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A Dialogue-Anthem

by
 Alas, poor Death! Where is thy glory?
Where is thy famous force, thy ancient sting?

Alas, poor mortal, void of story!
Go spell and read how I have killed thy King.
Poor Death! And who was hurt thereby? Thy curse being laid on Him makes thee accurst.
Let losers talk, yet thou shalt die; These arms shall crush thee.
Spare not, do thy worst.
I shall be one day better than before; Thou so much worse, that thou shalt be no more.

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