‘Where the devil have you been?’ ‘Consorting with a nun in the gardens. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. From this night I shall pursue a different course; from this night his ruin may be dated. Beauty has bloomed and faded. Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip Are dug from the mines of canary; And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip With hogsheads of claret and sherry.
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