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The Spring
I scarse beleeue my Loue to bee so pure [274]
As I had thought it was
Because it doth endure
Vicissitude and Season as the Grasse
Mee thinkes I l'yd all winter when I swore
My loue was infinite, if Spring make it more
But if this Medicine loue, wch cures all sorrowe
With more, not onely bee no quintessence
But mixd of all stuffs vexing soule or sence
And of the Sunne his actiue vigour borrow
Loue's not so pure an abstract as they vse
To say who haue no Mistresse but theyr Muse.
But, as all else, beeing elemented too
Loue would sometimes contemplate, sometimes doe
And yet not greater but more eminent
Loue by the Spring is growne
As in the firmament
Starrs by the Sunne are not enlargd but showne
Gentle loue-deeds, as blossoms on a bowe
ffrom Loues awakned roote do budd out new.
If, as in waters stirrd more Circles bee
Produc'd by one; love such additions take
Those like to many Spheares, but one heauen make.
ffor they are all concentrique vnto thee
And though each Spring do add to Love new heate
As Princes doe, in time of action, gett
New Taxes, and remitt them not in peace
No winter shall abate this Springs increase

[CW: Twice or]