And with our ruin only, find the cheat.
"And why then seek that luckless doom to share?"
Who, I?—To shun it is my only care.
I grant it true, that others better tell
Of mighty Wolfe, who conquer'd as he fell[12];
Of heroes born their threaten'd realms to save,
Whom Fame anoints, and Envy tends whose grave;
Of crimson'd fields, where Fate, in dire array,
Gives to the breathless the short-breathing clay;
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