That one small head could carry all he knew.
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ut past is all his fame: the very spot, Where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot. [Illustration: 0059] Near yonder thorn that lifts its head on high, Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired, Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil retired, {031} Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound,
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