I grow in worth, and wit, and sense,
Unboding critic-pen,
Or that eternal want of pence,
Which vexes public men,
Who hold their hands to all, and cry
For that which all deny them -
Who sweep the crossings, wet or dry,
And all the world go by them. (Alfred, Lord Tennyson)

I grow in worth, and wit, and sense, Unboding critic-pen, Or that eternal want of pence, Which vexes public men, Who hold their hands to all, and cry For that which all deny them - Who sweep the crossings, wet or dry, And all the world go by them.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

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