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The Man of Worth huns Thy reputelee dore; Even the old Peaant hakes his ilverd head, Old aws and tories babbling evermore, And adding till, Alas, those dayes be fled! Here Indignation paud, when, up the glade, Pale through the trees his houhold moke acends; Wakd at the ight, his Brothers wrongs upbraid His melting heart, and grief his boome rends: And now the keene Reolve its gleaming comfort lends.

Perdie, now were I bent on legends fine My Knight hould rie the flowre of Chivalrie, Brave as Syr Arthegal or Valentine, Another Saint George England then hould ee, BritanniasBrittania's [sic] Genius hould his Sabra bee, Chaind to the rock by Dragon to be lain; But he the Virgin Princee oon hould free, And tretch the monster breathlee on the plain; Bribery, the Dragon huge, hould never rie again.