Men are but children of a larger growth, Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain.
For secrets are edged tools, And must be kept from children and from fools.
Men are but children of a larger growth.
Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child.
By education most have been misled; So they believe, because they were bred. The priest continues where the nurse began, And thus the child imposes on the man.
Love is a child that talks in broken language, yet then he speaks most plain.
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