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 Rh

"I beat you?" he answered,

"The charge is unjust:

I but gently endeavour

To take out the dust.

The means I make use of

To you may seem hard;

But it does not diminish,

Good Coat, my regard.

My son, whom I cherish

More fondly than you,

I cane rather often,

For like reason too.

The faults that, in children,

We needs must repress.

Are like dust, that beclouds

The most exquisite dress;

A little exertion

Will soon work a cure.

And will make both more lovely.

More worthy, more pure."

Though the fable is good.

Yet I never will blush

To own, I prefer dusting

My coat with a brush.