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Pectus enim id est quod disertos facit, et vis mentis; ideoque imperitis quoque, si modo sint aliquo affectu concitati, verba non desunt.
"Why, William, on that old gray'ston^"
"Where are your books ?—that light bequeath'd
*' To beings else forlorn and blind!
"Up! up! and drink the spirit breath'd
"From dead men to their kind.
"You look round on your mother earth,
One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake,
"The eye it cannot choose but see;
* Nor less I deem that there are powers