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Ben Jonson - I: Why I Write Not To LoveBen Jonson - I: Why I Write Not To Love
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Some act of Love`s bound to reherse, I thought to bind him, in my verse: Which when he felt, Away (quoth he) Can Poets hope to fetter me? It is enough, they once did get Mars, and my Mother, in their net: I weare not these my wings in vaine. With which he fled me: and againe, Into my rimes could ne`re be got By any art. Then wonder not, That since, my numbers are so cold, When Love is fled, and I grow old.
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