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To E. of D. with six holy Sonnets. |
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See Sir, how as the Suns hot Masculine flame |
Begets strange creatures on Niles durty slime, |
In me, your fatherly yet lusty Ryme |
(For, these songs are their fruits) have wrought the same; |
But though the ingendring force from whence they came |
Bee strong enough, and nature doe admit |
Seaven to be borne at once, I send as yet |
But six, they say, the seaventh hath still some maime; |
I choose your judgement, which the same degree |
Doth with her sister, your invention, hold, |
As fire these drossie Rymes to purifie, |
Or as Elixar, to change them to gold; |
You are that Alchimist which alwaies had |
Wit, whose one spark could make good things of bad.
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[CW: To] |