Page:Poems upon Several Occasions.djvu/115

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Who have been the Poet's Spark to-day, Will now become the Champion of his Play, Know all, who wou'd pretend to my good Grace, I mortally dislike a damning Face. Plea'd or displeas'd, no matter, now 'tis past; The first who dares be angry breaths his last: Who shall presume to doubt my Will and Pleasure, Him I defie to send his Weapon's Measure: If War you chuse, and Blood must needs be spilt here, By Jove, let me alone to match your Tilter, I'll give you Satisfaction if I can; 'Sdeath, 'tis not the first time I've kill'd my Man. On Pain of being posted to your Sorrow, Fail not, at Four, to meet me here To-morrow.



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