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Here she lies, a pretty bud, Lately made of flesh and blood:
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If a little labor, little are our gains. Man's fortunes are according to his pains.
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See where she comes, and smell how all the street, Breathes vineyards and pomegranates: oh, how sweet!...
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What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: The sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.
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Conquer we shall, but, we must first contend! It's not the fight that crowns us, but the end.
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