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In Other Words

’Tis time for the sacrifice sacred to Faunus—
He may get our lambkin, he may get our goat.
O Sextius, ere death shall have wholly withdrawn us,
Take this from Horatius, your favorite pote;
Soon Pluto will cail you, at some unforeseen time,
You'll go, be you journalist-jester or king,
You can’t get away from it. But, in the meantime,
’Tis Spring!

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