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Poem by Jonathan Swift
Advice to the Grub Street Verse-writers
Ye poets ragged and forlorn, Down from your garrets haste; Ye rhymers, dead as soon as born, Not yet consign'd to paste; I know a trick to make you thrive; O, 'tis a quaint device: Your still-born poems shall revive, And scorn to wrap up spice. Get all your verses printed fair, Then let them well be dried; And Curll must have a special care To leave the margin wide.
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