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Did I digress?
"The time you won your town the race, we chaired you through the marketplace. Man and boy stood cheering by as home we brought you, shoulder-high. Smart lad to slip, betimes away, from fields where glory does not stay: Early though the laurel grows, it withers quicker than a rose Now you will not swell the rout of lads who wore their honors out: Runners who renown outran, and the name died 'fore the man."
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BE JUST AND FEAR NOT
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