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Poem by Abraham Cowley
AH! what advice can I receive! No, satisfy me first; For who would physick-potions give To one that dies with thirst? A little puff of breath, we find, Small fires can quench and kill; But, when they're great, the adverse wind Does make them greater still. Now whilst you speak, it moves me much, But straight I'm just the same; Alas! th' effect must needs be such Of cutting through a flame.
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