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And to my wily trains: I shall ere long
Be well stocked with as fair a herd as grazed
About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl
My dazzling spells into the spongy air,
Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion,
[Hint: count the syllables in the line.]
And give it false presentments, lest the place
And my quaint habits breed astonishment,
--Milton