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Prologue to a Saga

 Maidens, gather not the yew,
Leave the glossy myrtle sleeping;
Any lad was born untrue,
Never a one is fit your weeping.
Pretty dears, your tumult cease; Love's a fardel, burthening double.
Clear your hearts, and have you peace- Gangway, girls: I'll show you trouble.

Poem by Dorothy Parker
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