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You think a sodain damp of love |
Will through all their senses move, |
And work on them as me, and so preferre |
Your murder, to the name of massacre. |
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Poor victories! but if you dare be brave, |
And pleasure in the conquest have, |
First kill th'enormous Gyant, your Disdain, |
And let the enchantress Honor next be slain; |
And like a Goth or Vandal rise; |
Deface Records, and Histories |
Of your own acts and triumphs over men, |
And without such advantage kill me then. |
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For I could muster up as well as you |
My Gyants, and my Witches too, |
Which are vast Constancy, and Secretness, |
But these I neither look for nor profess, |
Kill me as Woman, let me die |
As a meer man; do you but try |
Your passive valour, and you shall find than, |
Naked you'have odds enough of any man. |
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The Dissolution. |
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She's dead, and all which die |
To their first Elements resolve; |
And we were mutual Elements to us, |
And made of one another. |
My body then doth hers involve, |
And those things whereof I consist, hereby |
In me abundant grow, and burdenous, |
And nourish not, but smother,
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[CW: My] |