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Ben Jonson - On Something, That Walks Somewhere
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At court I met it, in clothes brave enough
   To be a courtier, and looks grave enough
To seem a statesman: as I near it came,
   It made me a great face. I asked the name.
"A lord," it cried, "buried in flesh and blood,
   And such from whom let no man hope least good,
For I will do none; and as little ill,
   For I will dare none." Good lord, walk dead still.
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