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'Poor instrument,' quoth she, 'without a sound, (1465)

I'll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue; (1466)

And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound, (1467)

And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong; (1468)

And with my tears quench Troy that burns so long;
And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes (1470)

Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies.

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