Worst malefactors, to whom men are prize, མཁ So will thy book in pieces for a lord Some leaves may paste strings there in other books, Pilfer, alas! a little wit from you, But hardly much; and yet I think this true. 60 70 As Sybil's was, your book is mystical, For every piece is as much worth as all: The healths which my brain bears must be far less : The giant-wit o'erthrows me; I am gone; And rather than read all I would read none. 76 Worst malefactors, to whom men are prize, So will thy book in pieces for a lord Some leaves may paste strings there in other books, Pilfer, alas! a little wit from you, But hardly much; and yet I think this true. For every piece is as much worth as all: Therefore mine impotency I confess, 60 70 The healths which my brain bears must be far less : The giant-wit o'erthrows me; I am gone; And rather than read all I would read none. 76 |