Mention608775
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so:text | Of no distemper, of no blast he died, But fell like autumn fruit that mellowed long — Even wondered at, because he dropped no sooner. Fate seemed to wind him up for fourscore years, Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more; Till like a clock worn out with eating time, The wheels of weary life at last stood still. (en) |
so:isPartOf | https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/John_Dryden |
so:description | Œdipus (1679) (en) |
qkg:hasContext | qkg:Context299713 |
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qkg:Quotation577127 | qkg:hasMention |
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