p.
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And when thy melted Maide Corrupted by thy Louers gold, and Page, His letter at thy Pillowe hath laide, Disputed itt and tamd thy rage, And thou beginst to thawe towards him, for this, Maye my name step in, and hide his. And if this treason goe To an ouuert act, and thou write againe In superscribinge, this Name flowe Into thy fancye from the paine, Soe in forgettinge thou remembrest right, And vnawares to mee shalt write. But glasse and lines mvst bee Noe meanes, our firme substantiall loue to keepe, Neere Death inflicts this Lethargie And this I mvrmure in my sleepe, Impute this Idle talke to that, I goe; For dyinge men talke often soe| |
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