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poetae ovidii nasonis amorum, liber primus. quemadmodum a cupidine pro bellis amores scribere coactus sit. We which were ovid's five books now are three, For these before the rest preferreth he. If reading five thou 'plain'st of tediousness, Two ta'en away, thy labor will be less. With muse prepared i meant to sing of arms, Choosing a subject fit for fierce alarms. Both verses were alike till love (men say) Began to smile and took one foot away. Rash boy, who gave thee power to change a line? We are the muses' prophets, none of thine. What if thy mother take diana's bow? Shall dian fan, when love begins to glow? In woody groves is't meet that ceres reign, And quiver-bearing dian till the plain? Who'll set the fair tressed sun in battle 'ray While mars doth take the aonian harp to play? Great are thy kingdoms, overstrong and large, Ambitious imp, why seek'st thou further charge? Are all things thine? the muses' tempe thine? Then scarce can phoebus say, this harp is mine. When in this wo . . .
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