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 He that cannot choose but love,
And strives against it still,
Never shall my fancy move,
For he loves 'gainst his will;
Nor he which is all his own,
And can at pleasure choose,
When I am caught he can be gone,
And when he list refuse.
Nor he that loves none but fair, For such by all are sought; Nor he that can for foul ones care, For his judgement then is nought; Nor he that hath wit, for he Will make me his jest or slave; Nor a fool, for when others.
, He can neither.
; Nor he that still his Mistress pays, For she is thralled therefore; Nor he that pays not, for he says Within She's worth no more.
Is there then no kind of men Whom I may freely prove? I will vent that humour then In mine own self-love.

by John Donne
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