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The gatherd storme is rype; the bigge drops falle;The forswat meadowes smethe, and drenche the raine;The comyng ghastness do the cattle pall,And the full flockes are drivynge ore the plaine;Dashde from the cloudes the waters flott againe;The welkin opes; the yellow levynne flies;And the hot fierie smothe in the wide lowings dies.
— Thomas Chatterton
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They dont understand what real treasure is. They see it in gold and copper, and tin. They see in herds of horses or cattle. They gather treasures to themselves, building great storehouses, which they guard ferociously. Then they die. What good is it then?
— David Gemmell
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