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Here’s some things that good men lack
poisons to turn the pure heart black.
A list that’s born of a serpent’s gift:
wise, alone, and set adrift.

A hollow life with nothing striven,
always taking, never giving,
longing for another’s place,
drunken thoughts of flesh and lace.

Hate that turns man on man,
feasting before a pauper’s stand,
and last is holding praise too near
for this the devil too holds dear.