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Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - Book Of Gloom
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IT is a fault oneself to praise,
And yet `tis done by each whose deeds are kind;
And if there`s no deceit in what he says,
The good we still as good shall find.
Let, then, ye fools, that wise man taste

Of joy, who fancies that he s wise,
That he, a fool like you, may waste
Th` insipid thanks the world supplies.
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