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Sure, they which made him god, meant not so much? |
Nor he, in his young godhead practis'd it. |
But when an even flame two hearts did touch, |
His office was indulgently to fit |
Actives to Passives. Correspondency |
Onely his subject was; it cannot bee |
Love, if I love, who loves not me. |
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But every moderne god will now extend |
His vaste prerogative as farre as love. |
To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend, |
All is the purlewe of the God of Love. |
Oh were we wak'ned by this Tyranny |
To ungod this childe againe, it could not be |
I should love her, who loves not me. |
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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 me too, |
Which, since shee loves before, I'm loth to see; |
Falshood is worse than hate; and that must be, |
If she whom I love, should love me. |
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Loves diet. |
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To what a combersome unwieldinesse |
And burdenous corpulence my love had grown, |
But that I did, to make it lesse, |
And keepe it in proportion,
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[CW: Give] |