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All is the purlewe of the God of Love.
Oh were wee wak'ned by this Tyrannie
To ungod this child againe, it could not bee*
I should love her, who loves not mee.
Rebell and Atheist too, why murmure I,
As though I felt the worst that love could doe?
Love may make me leave loving, or might trie
A deeper plague, to make her love mee too,
Which since she loves before, I'am loth to see;
Falshood is worse then hate; and that must bee,
If shee whom I love, should love mee.
Loves diet.
To what a combersome unwieldinesse
And burdenous corpulence my love had growne,
But that I did, to make it lesse,
And keepe it in proportion,
Give it a diet, made it feed upon
That which love worst endures, discretion.
Above one sigh a day I'allow'd him not,
Of which my fortune, and my faults had part;
And if sometimes by stealth he got
A she sigh from my mistresse heart,
And thought to feast on that, I let him see
'Twas neither very sound, nor meant to mee;

[CW: If]