GUY
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ortal mixed of middle clay,Attempered to the night and day,Interchangeable with things,Needs no amulets nor rings.Guy possessed the talismanThat all things from him began;And as, of old, PolycratesChained the sunshine and the breeze,So did Guy betimes discoverFortune was his guard and lover;In strange junctures, felt, with awe,His own symmetry with law;That no mixture could withstandThe virtue of his lucky hand.He gold or jewel could not lose,Nor not receive his ample dues.Fearless Guy had never foes,He did their weapons decompose.Aimed at him, the blushing bladeHealed as fast the wounds it made.If on the foeman fell his gaze,Him it would straightway blind or craze,In the street, if he turned round,His eye the eye 't was seeking found. It seemed his Genius discreetWorked on the Maker's own receipt,And made each tide and elementStewards of stipend and of rent;So that the common waters fellAs costly wine into his well.He had so sped his wise affairsThat he caught Nature in his snares.Early or late, the falling rainArrived in time to swell his grain;Stream could not so perversely windBut corn of Guy's was there to grind:The siroc found it on its way,To speed his sails, to dry his hay;And the world's sun seemed to riseTo drudge all day for Guy the wise.In his rich nurseries, timely skillStrong crab with nobler blood did fill;The zephyr in his garden rolledFrom plum-trees vegetable gold;And all the hours of the yearWith their own harvest honored were.There was no frost but welcome came,Nor freshet, nor midsummer flame.Belonged to wind and world the toilAnd venture, and to Guy the oil.
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