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We hate alike.
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Five times, Martius, I have fought with thee.
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So often has thou beat me, and would do so, I fear,
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should we encounter as often as we eat.
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For where I thought to crush him in an equal force,
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true sword to sword, I'll potch at him some way.
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Or wrath or craft may get him.
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He's the devil.
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Bolder, though not so subtle.
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Nor sleep, nor sanctuary, being naked, sick,
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the prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice
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shall lift up their rotten privilege and custom