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To The Genius Of Mr. John Hall. On His Exact Translation Of

Rating: 2.7

Tis not from cheap thanks thinly to repay
Th' immortal grove of thy fair-order'd bay
Thou planted'st round my humble fane, that I
Stick on thy hearse this sprig of Elegie:
Nor that your soul so fast was link'd in me,
That now I've both, since't has forsaken thee:
That thus I stand a Swisse before thy gate,
And dare, for such another, time and fate.
Alas! our faiths made different essays,
Our Minds and Merits brake two several ways;

Justice commands I wake thy learned dust,
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7/30/2021 2:37:59 AM # 1.0.0.666