Rising Wind

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Wherefore the cock doth crow aloud
as doth a man vainglorious and proud
to fancy rise of gilded sun
as if a deed he hath by his breaths done
with lungs soon fit to fill a sail
so may his pride expand, a seaside gale,
and enterprise forth by high wind,
his voice a conceit unto fatal end—
for how shall puffed pretense prevail
if not by measure of lie he doth tell?

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