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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? |
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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. |
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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. |
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The Damp. |
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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,
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[CW: You] |