If only to be born were being invented Merely, or, better still, to concoct oneself From an antique alembic, a receipt. How splendid To take the phial cleanly from its shelf; Powders and liquids, all one's favourite hues Making the being one would be, the looker at stars Or storks on the spires of Denmark, drinker of dews, Or an eye simply.
The rogue gives you Love Powders, and then a strong horse drench to bring 'em off your stomach that they mayn't hurt you.Charles Lamb
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