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Am the Recusant, in that resolute State [f. 30v] |
What hurtes it Mee to bee Excomunicate? |
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Elegie .10. |
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Till I haue Peace with thee, warre other Men |
And when I haue Peace, can I leave thee then? |
All other Warres are scupelous;* onelie Thou |
O faire free Cittie maist thy self allow |
To anie one: In Flanders who can tell |
Whether the Master presse or Men rebell? |
Onelie wee know that, wch all Ideotts say |
They beare most Blowes, wch come to part the Fray; |
France in her lunatique giddines did hate |
Ever our Men, yea and our God of late. |
Yet shee relyes vpon our Angelles well |
Which nere returne; Noe more then they wch fell; |
Sick Ireland is with a strang Warre possest, |
Like to an Ague, now raging, now at rest, |
Which Time will cure; yet it must doe her good |
If shee were purg'd, and her head vayne lett blood. |
And Midas ioyes, our Spanish Iourneyes giues |
Wee touch all Gold, but find noe food to live. |
And I should bee in the hott parching Clyme
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[CW: To] |