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"Great king," the poet cried, his rebec stringing,
"Thy name shall live forever--through my singing!"


"Poor fool," the king replied, "that lie is hoary;
Thy songs may live--because they chant my glory!"


So each, the sword or lyre glorifying,
In turn proclaimed his work alone undying;


And while their wordy warfare shook the rafter,
Old Time stood by and held his sides for laughter!