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Show Mark This Man Breathes there a man with soul so dead Who never to himself hath said, "My trade of late is getting bad; "I'll try another muslin ad?" If such there be, go mark him well; For him no bank account shall swell, No angles watch the golden stair To welcome home a millionaire. The man who never asks for trade In local papers, oft displayed, Cares more for rest than worldly gain, And patronage but gives him pain. Tread lightly, friends; let no rude sounds Disturb his solitude profound. Here let him live in calm repose Unsought except by men he owes. And when he dies go plant him deep That naught may break his dreamless sleep', Where no rude clamor may dispel The quiet that he loves so well. And that the world may know its loss Place on his--grave a wreath of moss , And on a stone above, "Here lies A chump who wouldn't advertise." adver-tise." . From Rate Card of Davie Co. Record, Mocksville, N. C. |