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ELEGIES. |
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Elegie I. |
Iealosie. |
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Fond woman, which would'st have thy husbād die, |
And yet complain'st of his great jealousie; |
If swolne with poyson, he lay in'his last bed, |
His body with a sere-barke covered, |
Drawing his breath, as thick and short, as can |
The nimblest crocheting Musitian, |
Ready with loathsome vomiting to spue |
His Soule out of one hell, into a new, |
Made deafe with his poore Kindreds howling cries, |
Begging with few feign'd teares, great legacies, |
Thou would'st not weepe, but jolly,'and frolike be, |
As a slave, which to morrow should be free, |
Yet weepst thou, when thou seest him hungerly |
Swallow his owne death, hearts-bane jealousie. |
O give him many thankes, he'is courteous, |
That in suspecting kindly warneth us. |
We must not, as we us'd, flout openly, |
In scoffing riddles, his deformitie; |
Nor at his boord together being satt, |
With words, nor touch, scarce lookes adulterate.
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[CW: Nor] |