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Tell him, all questions, which men have defended |
Both of the place and pains of hell, are ended; |
And 'tis decreed, our hell is but privation |
Of him, at least in this earths habitation: |
And 'tis where I am, where in every street |
Infections follow, overtake and meet. |
Live I or die, by you my love is sent, |
You are my pawns, or else my Testament. |
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To M. T. W. |
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Pregnant again with th'old twins Hope and Fear, |
Oft have I ask't for thee, both how and where |
Thou wert, and what my hopes of letters were: |
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As in our streets slie beggers narrowly |
Watch motions of the givers hand or eye, |
And evermore conceiue some hope thereby. |
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And now thy Alms is given, thy letter 'is read, |
The body risen again, the which was dead, |
And thy poor starveling bountifully fed. |
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After this banquet my soul doth say grace, |
And praise thee fort, and zealously embrace |
Thy love, though I think thy love in this case |
To be as gluttons, which say 'midst their meat; |
They love that best of which they most do eat.
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[CW: Incerto] |