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The Legacy.
When last I dyed, and, Dear, I die
As often as from thee I goe,
Though it be but an hour agoe,
And lovers hours be full eternity,
I can remember yet, that I
Something did say, and something did bestow;
Though I be dead, which sent me, I might be
Mine own executor, and legacy.
I heard me say, Tell her anon,
That my self, that is you, not I,
Did kill me, and when I felt me dy,
I bid me send my heart, when I was gone,
But I alas could there finde none,
When I had ripp'd, and search'd where hearts should ly
It kill'd me again, that I who still was true
In life, in my last Will should cozen you.
Yet I found something like a heart,
For colours it and corners had,
It was not good, it was not bad,
It was intire to none, and few had part:
As good as could be made by art
It seem'd, and therefore for our loss be sad,
I meant to send that heart in stead of mine,
But oh, no man could hold it, for 'twas thine.

[CW: A]