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Thus cavils she with every thing she sees: (1094)

True grief is fond and testy as a child, (1095)

Who wayward once, his mood with nought agrees: (1096)

Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild; (1097)

Continuance tames the one: the other wild,
Like an unpractised swimmer plunging still. (1099)

With too much labour drowns for want of skill.

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