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    When great poets sing,
    Into the night new constellations spring,
    With music in the air that dulls the craft
    Of rhetoric. So when Shakespeare sang or laughed
    The world with long, sweet Alpine echoes thrilled
    Voiceless to scholars' tongues no muse had filled
    With melody divine.

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A wretched soul, bruised with adversity. -The Comedy of Errors. Act ii. Sc. 1.

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Chaste as the icicle That 's curdied by the frost from purest snow And hangs on Dian's temple. -Coriolanus. Act read more

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