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Rob mee, but binde me not, and let me goe. |
Must I, who came to travaile thorow you, |
Grow your fixt subject, because you are true? |
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Venus heard me sigh this song, |
And by Loves sweetest Part, Variety, she swore, |
She heard not this till now; and that it should be so no more. |
She went, examin'd, and return'd ere long, |
And said, alas, Some two or three |
Poore Heretiques in love there bee, |
Which thinke to stablish dangerous constancie. |
But I have told them, since you will be true, |
You shall be true to them, who'are false to you. |
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Loves Vsury. |
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For every houre that thou wilt spare mee now, |
I will allow, |
Usurious God of Love, twenty to thee, |
When with my browne, my gray haires equall bee; |
Till then, Love, let my body raigne, and let |
Mee travell, sojourne, snatch, plot, have, forget, |
Resume my last yeares relict: thinke that yet |
We'had never met.
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[CW: Let] |