the playing fields of Eton,
but ne’er of bloodbaths’ aftermaths:
the flaying peels, half eaten.
Moral:
“Into the breach”…? F**k that speech!
Sing to me, O Muse, but not of Wand'ring Jews, nor Ulysses, late of Troy, nor Anchises and his boy. Sing of one instead who never lea...
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