To Courtling
LXXII.
— TO COURTLING.
I grieve not, COURTLING, thou art started up
A chamber-critic, and doth dine, and sup
At madam's table, where thou mak'st all wit
Go high, or low, as thou wilt value it.
'Tis not thy judgment breeds thy prejudice,
Thy person only, Courtling, is the vice.
Poem by
Ben Jonson
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