To Sir Annual Tilter
XXIX.
? TO SIR ANNUAL TILTER.
TILTER, the most may admire thee, though not I ;
And thou, right guiltless, may'st plead to it,
Why ?
For thy late sharp device.
I say 'tis fit
All brains, at times of triumph, should run wit :
For then our water-conduits do run wine ;
But that's put in, thou'lt say.
Why, so is thine.
[AJ Notes:
put in.
.
.
thine, playing on two different definitions of "put in":
first, "interjected", second, "stored away".
]
Poem by
Ben Jonson
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