I too ready

        In this fair world of Gods. had we no hope

        Indeed beyond the slope

        Of yon gray blank of sky, we mig

        to muse upoys straint

        Round our aspirant souls; but sihe scope

        Must    o droop,

        For a feaint ?

        O pusillanimous , be forted

        And, like a craveller, take the road

        Singing beside t if the bread

        Be bitter in thou unshod

        to meet ts ? At least it may be said

        Because t, I thee, God.
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