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Oh what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive!
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Look back, and smile on perils past.
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To all, to each, a fair good night, And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light.
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Death -- the last sleep? No, it is the final awakening.
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O many a shaft, at random sent, Finds mark the archer little meant And many a word, at random spoken, May soothe or wound a heart that's broken
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