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Drunken Sonnet

When in my lowest stock of wine and praise
I just content myself with this cheap beer
And wish in some hotel I with my raise
In yuletide, enjoying a good cheer;
But most I get from work that I contend,
Is reprimand from bossy chief and staff,
And scorn from lady love whom I pretend,
To have, when all I get from her is chaff;
And thinking of this love, this love of fools,
That no angel finds worthy of a cent,
Spit out, might I, in any of my drools,
And wonder how my glossy life have went;
.... Seeing your face, and hearing your tirade,
.... I might with bandits give my life to trade.
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