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Reading edition
Ladies, though to your conquering eyes Love owes his chiefest victories, And borrows those bright arms from you With which he does the world subdue; Yet you yourselves are not above The empire nor the griefs of love. Then rack not lovers with disdain, Lest love on you revenge their pain; You are not free because you’re fair, The boy did not his mother spare: Though beauty be a killing dart, It is no armour for the heart. Sir George Etherege.
