XXVIII

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XXVIII

This grave holds Barnes in all his glory⁠—

Master he of oratOry.

When he died the people, weeping

(For they thought him only sleeping)

Cried: “Although he now is quiet

And his tongue is not a riot,

Soon, the spell that binds him breaking,

He a motion will be making.

Then, alas, he’ll rise and speak

In support of it a week.”