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Must I, who came to travell 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; 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 constancy. |
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, |
Vsurious God of Love, twenty to thee, |
When with my browne, my gray haires equall bee; |
Till then, Love, let my body range, and let |
Me trauell, sojourne, match, plot, have, forget, |
Resume my last yeares relict: thinke that yet |
We'had never met. |
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Let me thinke any rivals letter mine, |
And at next nine |
Keepe midnights promise; mistake by the way |
The maid, and tell the Lady of that delay; |
Onely let mee love none, no not the sport |
From countrey grasse to comfitures of Court, |
Or cities quelque choses, let not report |
My minde transport.
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[CW: This] |