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For this love was not vowed by thee.
And yet it was thy gift being general,
The ground, thy heart is mine, what ever shall
Grow there, dear, I should have it all.
Yet, I would not have all yet,
He that hath all can have no more,
And since my love doth every day admit
New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store;
Thou canst not every day give me thy heart,
If thou canst give it, then thou never gav'st it:
Loves riddles are, that though thy heart depart,
It stayes at home, and thou with losing sav'st it:
But we will love a way more liberal,
Then changing hearts, to joyn us, so we shall
Be one, and one anothers All.
Sweetest Love, I doe not goe,
For weariness of thee,
Nor in hope the world can show
A fitter Love for me;
But since that I
Must dye at last, 'tis best,
Thus to use my self in jest
By fained death to dye;
Yesternight the Sun went hence,
And yet is here to day,
He hath no desire nor sense,
Nor half so short a way:

[CW: Then]