1877.] 
159 
Quatrains of ’ Umar Khayyam. 
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We are but puppets danced by juggling fate, 
To trim tbe phrase no jot of truth I bate, 
On Being’s board we serve to dress a play, 
And, played our little game,—we’re packed away. 
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Though steeped in sin, let no vain qualms be thine, 
Nor fear to meet thy Maker. Death atones. 
Die drunk and reprobate. His sun will shine 
As bland as ever on thy rotting bones. 
VI. 
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Earth, water,—such is the sum of us: 
Monk, priest,—Thou hast made us the same, 
Fame, shame,—all that may come of us,— 
Thine is the honour,—and thine is the blame. 
VII. 
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I am drunk with old wine P So I am. 
A rank libertine ? So I am. 
Let them think of me what they will, 
I am mine : As I am, so I am. 
