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The Funerall
Who ever comes to shrowde mee, doe not harme [280]
Nor question much
That subtill wreath of hayre w.ch crownes mine Arme
The Mistery the Signe you must not touch
ffor tis my outward Soule
Viceroy to that w.ch then to heauen beeing gon
Will leaue this to controule
And keepe these Limbes, her Prouinces, from disolution
ffor if the Sinnewy Thread my brayne lets fall
Through every part
Can tye those parts, and make mee one and all;
Those Hayres w.ch vpward grewe, and strength and Art
Haue from a better brayne
Can better do it; except Shee ment that I
By this should knowe my payne
As prisoners then are manacled when th'are condemnd to dye.
What ere shee ment by it, bury it with mee
ffor since I am
Loues Martyr, it might breede Idolatry
If into others hands these Reliques came.
As t'was Humility
To affoord to it all w.ch a soule can doe:
So tis some Brauery
That since you would haue none of mee I bury some of you

[CW: When my___]