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Rh I can set a braggart quailing with a quip,
 * The upstart I can wither with a whim;

He may wear a merry laugh upon his lip,
 * But his laughter has an echo that is grim.

When they're offered to the world in merry guise,
 * Unpleasant truths are swallowed with a will—

For he who'd make his fellow creatures wise
 * Should always gild the philosophic pill!