Ben Jonson
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Thou that mak'st gain thy end, and wisely well, Call'st a book good, or bad, as it doth sell, Use mine so too ; I give thee leave : but crave, For the luck's sake, it thus much favor have, To lie upon thy stall, till it be sought ; Not offer'd, as it made suit to be bought ; Nor have my title-leaf on posts or walls, Or in cleft-sticks, advanced to make calls For termers, or some clerklike serving-man, Who scarce can spell th' hard names ; whose knight less can. If, without these vile arts, it will not sell, Send it to Buckler's-bury, there 'twill well.
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