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Were tales of grace and martyr’s stand.
Of dragons slain and angels near,
Of saints who walked through flame and fear.
A maiden's vow, a lion’s tear,
A voice from Heaven, bold and clear.
They bore the cross through blood and flame,
Each soul afire with holy name.
Chains could not bind what faith had freed,
Nor death undo the righteous deed.
Their lives — a gospel inked in gold,
In whispered prayers and stories told.
So let these legends light your way,
Through shadowed night and trialed day.
For though the world may rise in sin,
The lives of saints still burn within.
a most deviant man
Seen about London
in the regency scene
was a flashy dresser
like none that you have seen
His dress was delicate
but his voice was indelicate
with proud feathers here
doth not make the man.
but Dapper was there
indecent his plan.
Here he was to lure
his intentions were not pure
His fingers were so loose
and slippery was his fame
but he soon cooked his goose
a pick pocket in the frame.