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Jonathan Swift - On A Circle
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I`m up and down, and round about,
Yet all the world can`t find me out;
Though hundreds have employ`d their leisure,
They never yet could find my measure.
I`m found almost in every garden,
Nay, in the compass of a farthing.
There`s neither chariot, coach, nor mill,
Can move an inch except I will.
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