A Traitor

'Tis here, the Book you begged for so,
The present that you craved, behold it!
I half distrusted you, you know;
And now I've bought it—where you sold it!
I liked you once, the page that told it,
You've cut, uncut the others though,
From old esteem you've fallen low,
To vend my book; you once extolled it!
'Tis well; I've learned your lesson, friend,
When next you want a book I've writ,
I'll add no line of prose nor verse,
I'll give no book, but take my purse,
And save you trouble, and extend
A hand that holds the price of it!
Author of original: 
Francois Fertiault
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