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Normale Version: What is he but a common gutter-cur,
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What is he but a common gutter-cur,
A chattering mountebank, obese and base?
And yet perhaps your judgment may prefer
His grinning to my thin and furrowed face.
My rival! . . . Faugh! the word burns on my lips,
Acknowledging equality, in that breath,
With him who is my equal but where slips
All form from life, and men are one in death.
He is with you now:--what words now from him fall?
What answering smile lights your alluring eyes?
Madness leers at me, as my thoughts recall
The love that late between us cried,--and cries! . . .
Well, go! My mirth goes with you, who might be
A lamp of earth, a bright star from the sea.