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An old, mad, blind, despis'd, and dying king, Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow Through public scorn--mud from a muddy spring, Rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know, But leech-like to their fainting country cling, Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow, A people starv'd and stabb'd in the untill'd field, An army, which liberticide and prey Makes as a two-edg'd sword to all who wield, Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay, Religion Christless, Godless--a book seal'd, A Senate--Time's worst statute unrepeal'd, Are graves, from which a glorious Phantom may Burst, to illumine our tempestuous day.
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