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112

(778)
'With rotten damps ravish the morning air; (779)

Let their exhaled unwholesome breaths make sick (780)

The life of purity, the supreme fair, (781)

Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick; (782)

And let thy misty vapours march so thick,
(783)
That in their smoky ranks his smother'd light (784)

May set at noon and make perpetual night.

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