kozub kozuch kozyrev
kraai kraatz krabbe
to shine, But old experience and calm wisdom mine. Then hear my counsel,
and to reason yield, The bravest soon are satiate of the field Though
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vast the heaps that strow the crimson plain, The bloody harvest brings but
little gain: The scale of conquest ever wavering lies, Great Jove but
turns it, and the victor dies! The great, the bold, by thousands daily
fall, And endless were the grief, to weep for all. Eternal sorrows what
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