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A Feaver.
Oh do not die, for I shall hate
All women so, when thou art gone,
That thee I shall not celebrate,
When I remember thou wast one.
But yet thou canst not die, I know,
To leave this world behinde, is death,
But when thou from this world wilt go,
The whole world vapours in thy breath.
Or if, when thou, the worlds soul, goest,
It stay, 'tis but thy Carcass then,
The fairest woman, but thy ghost,
But corrupt wormes, the worthiest men.
O wrangling schools, that search what fire
shall burn this world, had none the wit
Unto this knowledge to aspire,
That this her feaver might be it!
And yet she cannot wast by this
Nor long endure this torturing wrong,
For more corruption needful is
To fuel such a feaver long.
These burning fits but meteors be,
Whose matter in thee soon is spent.
Thy beauty, and all parts, which are thee,
Are an unchangeable firmament.

[CW: And]