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The Poetaster by Ben Jonson
page 50 of 324 (15%)
As gold, or titles; they would dread far more
To be thought ignorant, than be known poor.
The time was once, when wit drown'd wealth; but now,
Your only barbarism is t'have wit, and want.
No matter now in virtue who excels,
He that hath coin, hath all perfection else.

Tib. [within.] Ovid!

Ovid. Who's there? Come in.
Enter Tibullus.
Tib. Good morrow, lawyer.

Ovid. Good morrow, dear Tibullus; welcome: sit down.

Tib. Not I. What, so hard at it? Let's see, what's here? Numa in
decimo nono. I Nay, I will see it

Ovid. Prithee away

Tib.
If thrice in field a man vanquish his foe,
'Tis after in his choice to serve or no.
How, now, Ovid! Law cases in verse?

Ovid. In truth, I know not; they run from my pen unwittingly if
they be verse. What's the news abroad ?

Tib. Off with this. gown; I come to have thee walk.

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