Quotes
Lo where the stage, the poor, degraded stage, Holds its warped mirror to a gaping age. Through life's dark road his sordid way he wends, An incarnation of fat dividends. Behold! in Liberty's unclouded blaze We lift our heads, a race of other days. Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doctors' spite; Thy clouds all other clouds dispel, And lap me in delight.charles sprague
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