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WORK-A-DAY WARRIORS
He drags himself as 'twere upon the stage,And glares with eyes that are not things of sight;And beckons to behold his piteous plight,The gouts of blood no unguent can assuage.Beneath the battlements I see him lie,Of that grim castle in that ancient town,And all his wounds are mouths that seem to cryTo bring the vengeance of Almighty down―How should it come to pass he points at me?Alas!How should it come to pass? How should it come to pass?
