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Who thought that this device might be some way,
To make their souls at the last busie day,
Meet at this grave, and make a little stay?
If this fall in a time, or land,
Where Mass-devotion doth command,
Then, he that digs us up, will bring
Us to the Bishop, or the King,
To make us Reliques, then
Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I
A something else thereby;
All women shall adore us, and some men;
And since at such time, miracles are sought,
I would have that age by this paper taught
What miracles we harmless Lovers wrought.
First we lov'd well and faithfully,
Yet knew not what we lov'd, nor why,
Difference of Sex we never knew,
No more than Guardian Angels do,
Coming and going we,
Perchance might kiss, but yet between those meales
Our hands ne'r toucht the seales,
Which nature injur'd by late law, set free:
These miracles we did; but now, alas,
All measure, and all language, I should pass,
Should I tell what a miracle she was.
The Damp.
When I am dead, and Doctors know not why,
And my friends curiosity
Will have me cut up to survay each part,
And they shall find your Picture in mine heart,

[CW: You]