𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖞 𝕴𝖘 𝕯𝖔𝖓𝖊

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And in that town a dog was found

   As many dogs there be,

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound,

   And curs of low degree.

The dog, to gain his private ends,

   Went mad, and it bit the man 

                               °         °         °

The man recovered of the bite,

     The dog it was that died

And the night shall be filled with music,

And the cares that infest the day

Shall fold their tents like the Arabs,

And as silently steal away.

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