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22

EPITAPH OF THE EMPEROR OF AUSTRIA

So then at last the Emperor Franz,
On spindle shanks hath joined Death's dance.
Prythee, good Saint Nepomucene,
Push the pale wretch behind the screen;—
For if your Master's Son should know,
He'd kick him to the gulph below:
Then would the Devil rave and rant,
That Hell has more than Hell can want
Of such exceedingly good men,
And fork him to you back agen.
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