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Hence, vain deluding Joys,
The brood of Folly without father bred, How little you bested,
Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys? Dwell in some idle brain,
And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the sun-beams, Or likeliest hovering dreams,
The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train.
Black, but such as in esteem,