I8 POEMS AND SATIRES OF
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ith wtiiading scythe antt elbow strongThese massacie the grass along ;While onCf unknowing, carTca the raili;Whose yet Tinfeathered qiit!i& her fail 5The edge all bloody from its breastHe draws, and does his strolte detesl.Fearing the ficBh, untimely rnowed,To iiira a fate as black forebode. LIBut bloody Thestylis^ that waitsTo bring the mowing camp their catcs,Greedy as kite, has truBsed it upAnd forthwith meaoG od it to sup ;When on another tjuick she lights.And cries, " He called us Israelites ;But now, CO' make his saying true,Kails rain for quails, for manna, dew.'^
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