Feed

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I have simply ordered a box of maniacs.
They can be sent back.
They can die, I need feed them nothing, I am the owner.
—Sylvia Plath (1932–1963)

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Say that the men of the old black tower
Though they but feed as the goatherd feeds,
Their money spent, their wine gone sour,
Lack nothing that a soldier needs,
That all are oath-bound men;
Those banners come not in.
—William Butler Yeats (1865–1939)