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To M.r C. B. |
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Thy frind, whome thy deserts to thee enchayne [217] |
Vrg'd by this inexcusable ocasion |
Thee and the saynt of his Affection |
Leauing behind, doth of both wants complayne. |
And let the Loue I beare to both sustayne |
No Blott or mayme by this diuision |
Strong is this Loue w.ch tyes our hearts in one. |
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And strong that Loue procur'd* with amorous payne |
But though, besides thy selfe, I leaue behind |
Heauens liberall and the earths thrice fayre sunn |
Going to where steru'd winter ay doth wonne |
Yet Loues hot fires, wch martyr my sad mind |
Do send forth scalding sighs wch haue the Art |
To melt all Ice but that w.ch walls her hart |
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To Mr, T. W. |
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Pregnant agayne with th'old Twins Hope and Feare |
Oft haue I askd for thee both how and where |
Thou wert, and what my hopes of letters were |
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As in our streets sly Beggers narrowly |
Watch motions of the giuers hand and eye |
And evermore conceaue some hope thereby |
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And now thine Almes is giuen, thy Letter's read |
The Bodye's risen agayne the w.ch was dead |
And thy poore sterveling bountifully fedd |
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After this Banquet, my Soule doth say grace |
And prayse thee for't, and zealously embrace |
Thy Loue, though I thinke thy Loue in this case |
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To bee as Gluttons, w.ch say 'midst theyr meate |
They loue that best of w.ch they most doe eate.
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[CW: O Thou__] |