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Must I, who came to travell thorow you,
Grow your fixt subject, because you are true?
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.
Loves Vsury.
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.
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.

[CW: This]