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The Loyal Garland.

17. He that can tower,
Or he that is lower,
Would be judg’d a fool to put away his power.

18. Take books and rent ’um,
Who can invent ’um,
When that the Sword replies, Negatur Argumentum.

19. Your grand Colledge-Butlers,
Muſt ſtoop to the Sutlers,
There’s ne’re a Library like to the Cutlers.

20. The blood that was ſpilt, Sir,
Hath gain’d all the Gilt, Sir,
Thus have you ſeen me run my ſword up to the Hilt, Sir.


Song. XLIX.

The fickle Lover.

Why ſhould you ſwear I am forſworn,
Since thine I vow’d to be:
Lady, it is already morn,
And ’twas laſt night I ſwore to thee
That fond impoſſibility.

C 3
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