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Poem by Christopher Marlowe
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Accurs'd be he that first invented war! They knew not, ah, they knew not, simple men, How those were hit by pelting cannon-shot Stand staggering like a quivering aspen-leaf Fearing the force of Boreas' boisterous blasts! In what a lamentable case where I, If nature had not given me wisdom's lore! For kings are clouts that every man shoots at, Our crown the pin that thousands seek to cleave: Therefore in policy I think it good To hide it close; a goodly stratagem, And far from any man that is a fool: So shall not I be known; or if I be, They cannot take away my crown from me. Here will I hide it in this simple hole.
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