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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.
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.
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.
The Dissolution.
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,

[CW: My]