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Mercy me upon!

 




Great is the penury, in contempt of my soul.
Brought near to beast state what will I do?
My face I'll grime with filth?
Will I blanket my loins and elf all my hair in knots?
I'll outface the faults, instead.
Winds and persecutions of the sky
I will beseech you - and call pity upon!

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