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Hauing from these suckd, all, they had of worthe |
And brought home that Faythe, wch you caryed forthe |
I throughly Love. But if my selfe I'haue wonne |
To know my Rules, I haue, & you haue Donne. |
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To M.r R. W.| |
Like one who'in her third widowhed doth profes [f. 26v] |
Her selfe a Nun, tir'd to a retirednes |
So affects my Muse now a chast fallownes. |
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Since She to few, yet to to many hath showne |
How Love song Weedes, & Satirique thornes are growne |
where seedes of better arts weare early sowne. |
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Though to vse & Love poetry, to mee |
Betroth'd to no one art be no adulteree, |
Omissions of good, ill, as ill deedes bee. |
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for though to vs it seeme, & be light & thin, |
Yet in those faythfull Scales wher God throwes in |
Mens workes, Vanity ways as much as Sin. |
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If or Soules haue Staind their first whight, yet wee |
May clothe them wt faythe & deare honestee, |
Wch God imputes as native puritee. |
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Ther is no Vertue but Religione. |
Wise, valiant, sober, iust, are names, wch none |
Want, wch want not Vice-covring discretione. |
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Seeke we then or selues in or selues; for as |
Men force ye Sun wth much more force to pas |
By gathring his beams wth a Christall glas, |