For thee the Fates, severely kind, ordain / A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain; / Thy life a long dead calm of fix'd repose; / No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows.
His eyes were red-rimmed, his hair ungreased and ruffled, skin pale as a potato root.
have a dream
But let me tell you, what you have hitherto ſuffered is but a prælude to what’s to follow.
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