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A far cry from my own fifteenth year.
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When I put on the toga virilis and passed into manhood
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It was a stuffy formal ceremony
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ridden with corpses and hags.
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My father deemed himself an orator.
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Lulled our guests to slumber some never to awaken!
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We would not have it so for Numerius.
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He's been clamoring for a pair of your finest
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to battle in exhibition at his celebration.
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Well we would see him well satisfied.
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And by extension his noble father.
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Though thought strikes if you hold the celebration beneath my humble roof