Ruddock and Cleopatra
¶ 1
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“The barge he sat in, like a burnished throne,
Burned on the water, the poop was beaten gold,
Purple to the sails, and so perfumed that
The winds were love sick with them; the oars were silver,
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke,
And the sails were his own Ruddock’s shorts,
For all smaller pairs just broke.”
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