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Long life to our king,
Who knocked over a thousand so fine!
Soho!--let us roar,
He has given us more
Red gallons of gore
Than all Syria can furnish of wine!
"
Do you hear that flourish of trumpets?"
Yes: the king is coming! See! the people are aghast with admiration,
and lift up their eyes to the heavens in reverence. He comes;--he is
coming;--there he is!
"Who?--where?--the king?--do not behold him--cannot say that I perceive
him."
Then you must be blind.
"
Very possible. Still I see nothing but a tumultuous mob of idiots
and madmen, who are busy in prostrating themselves before a gigantic
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