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310

V.

My own friend, my old friend!
Time's a soldier bold, friend!
Of his lofty prowess
Many a tale is told, friend!
Nations are his puppets,
To be bought and sold, friend!
He can mock the conqueror,
Rase his strongest hold, friend!
Fool the stern philosopher,
Win the miser's gold, friend!
But though earthly nature
Has so frail a mould, friend!
What the tyrant cannot do
Is to make us cold, friend!