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On Fortune,
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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On Fortune,

by the Duke of Buckingham.

Fortune made up of Toys and Impudence,
That common Jade that has not common Sense;
But fond of Business, insolently dares
Pretend to rule, yet spoil the World's Affairs.
She fluttering up and down, her Favours throws
On the next Man, not minding what she does,
Nor why nor whom she helps or injures knows.
Sometimes she smiles, then like a Fury raves,
And seldom truly loves but Fools and Knaves.
Let her love whom she please, I scorn to woo her,
While she stays with me I'll be civil to her.
But if she offers once to move her Wings,
I'll throw her back all her vain Gewgaw things;
And arm'd with Virtue will more glorious stand,
Than if the Bitch still bent at my Command:

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I'll marry Honesty, tho ne'er so poor,
Rather than follow such a dull blind Whore.