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Art thou a pen, whose task shall be To drown in ink What writers think? Oh, wisely write, That pages white Be not the worse for ink and thee. - The Gold Nugget [Pen] All quiet along the Potomac they say Except now and then a stray picket Is shot as he walks on his beat, to and fro, By a rifleman hid in the thicket. - The Picket Guard [War]
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