Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.
Oh, nature's noblest gift, my grey goose quill, Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, Torn from the parent bird to form a pen, That mighty instrument of little men.
I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse -- borne away with every breath!
I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse borne away with every breath! Misplaced upon the throne misplaced in life. I know not what I could have been, but feel I am not what I should be let it end.
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