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Near death inflicts this lethargie,
And thus I murmur in my sleep;
Impute this idle talk, to that I go,
For dying men talk often so.
Twicknam Garden.
Blasted with sighs, and surrounded with tears,
Hither I come to seek the spring,
And at mine eyes, and at mine years,
Receive such balme as else cures every thing:
But O, self-traitor, I do bring
The spiders love, which transubstantiates all,
And can convert Manna to gall,
And that this place may throughly be thought
True Paradise, I have the Serpent brought.
'Twere wholsomer for me, that winter did
Benight the glory of this place,
And that a grave frost did forbid
These trees to laugh, and mock me to my face;
But since I cannot this disgrace
Indure, nor leave this garden, Love let me
Some sensless piece of this place be;
Make me a mandrake, so I may grow here,
Or a stone fountaine weeping out my year.
Hither with Chrystal vials, lovers come,
And take my tears, which are loves wine,
And try your Mistress tears at home,
For all are false, that taste not just like mine;
Alas hearts, do not in eyes shine,

[CW: Nor]