by: Christopher Marlowe

be he that first invented war!

They knew not, ah, they knew not, simple men,

How those were hit by pelting cannon-shot

Stand staggering like a quivering aspen-leaf

Fearing the force of Boreas’ boisterous blasts!

In what a lamentable case where I,

If nature had not given me wisdom’s lore!

For kings are clouts that every man shoots at,

Our crown the pin that thousands seek to cleave:

Therefore in policy I think it good

So shall not I be known; or if I be,

To hide it close; a goodly stratagem,

And far from any man that is a fool:

They cannot take away my crown from me.

Here will I hide it in this simple hole.

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