Revenge
73.—Revenge.
My Revenge
Was born in laughter, (as our highest delights
Oft blush at first through tears);—but 'twill endure—
Like oaks which, born in May, seem slight and weak,
But having a score of winters on their heads,
Grow strong and rugged,—so doth my Revenge!
Nought shall impoverish it. The bounteous years
Shall lend their seasons and apparel it,
And, lest its roots should e'er be loos'd by pity,
We'll water it well, with—blood!
My Revenge
Was born in laughter, (as our highest delights
Oft blush at first through tears);—but 'twill endure—
Like oaks which, born in May, seem slight and weak,
But having a score of winters on their heads,
Grow strong and rugged,—so doth my Revenge!
Nought shall impoverish it. The bounteous years
Shall lend their seasons and apparel it,
And, lest its roots should e'er be loos'd by pity,
We'll water it well, with—blood!
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