War is the trade of kings.
I trade both with the living and the dead, for the enrichment of our native language.
Go miser go, for money sell your soul. Trade wares for wares and trudge from pole to pole, So others may say when you are dead and gone. See what a vast estate he left his son.
So poetry, which is in Oxford made An art, in London only is a trade.
War is a trade of kings.
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