XXXVII

       Live thou, whose infamy is not thy fame!
       Live! fear no heavier chastisement from me,
       Thou noteless blot on a remember’d name!
       But be thyself, and know thyself to be!
       And ever at thy season be thou free
       To spill the venom when thy fangs o’erflow;
       Remorse and Self-contempt shall cling to thee;
       Hot Shame shall burn upon thy secret brow,
And like a beaten hound tremble thou shalt—as now.

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