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“To beating winds and sultry suns a prey, My fainting spirit droops and dies away— Give me a mansion in my native dust, For though I die with rage, my rage is just.” — Philip Freneau

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To beating winds and sultry suns a prey, My fainting spirit droops and dies away— Give me a mansion in my native dust, For though I die with rage, my rage is just.
— Philip Freneau