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  1. O, what is pride

    That we holdeth onto it.


    ‘Tis as dew naked in the sunlight,

    A beautified bouquet, fresh trim’d,

    A flame flickering in the roaring rain..


    A mere feeble flamboyance;

    That withers as swiftly as breeze through our fingers..


    O, what is pride

    That we holdeth onto it.