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To pride

Let me freeze not in this untidy world of Vain;
Where man craft his inflated sense and status,
Love has its bloomed flowers only in strain ,
And lots their mind ill alerted is obvious.
False pride, do you  judge your yield;
Your's, an embalmer moving, odious;
Your's  Man birth and its quick withering wild,
And worth, you the desert, bow only your knees to immortal pious

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