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Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And, melting, heavens conspir'd his overthrow; For, falling to a devilish exercise, And glutted now with learning's golden gifts, He surfeits upon cursed necromancy; Nothing so sweet as magic is to him, Which he prefers before his chiefest bliss: And this the man that in his study sits. : Dr. Faustus (Marlowe)
3 comments:
hmmm... what purpose does this serve???
good question?
actually this is for some nosey parkers who are stuck on something i wrote.... in november.. it is still making headlines.. i think it'll follow me around...
and hey..must comment on two anonymous comments.
Chicken?
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