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All my joys to this are folly, Naught so swee

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All my joys to this are folly,
Naught so sweet as melancholy.

Diogenes struck the father when the son swore.

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Diogenes struck the father when the son swore.

Restore a man to his health, his purse lies open

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Restore a man to his health, his purse lies open to thee.

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