Benjamin Franklin

Sàys George to William, Neighbor, have a care,
Touch not that tree—’tis sacred to despair;
Two wives I had, but, ah! that joy is past!
Who breath’d upon those fatal boughs their last.

The best in all the row, without dispute,
Says Will—Would mine but bear such precious fruit!
When next you prune your orchard, save for me
(I have a spouse) one cyon of that tree.

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