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As is twixt Aire and Angells puritie, |
'Twixt womens love, and mens will ever bee. |
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Breake of day. |
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'Tis true, 'tis day, what though it be? |
O wilt thou therefore rise from me? |
Why should we rise, because 'tis light? |
Did we lie downe, because 'twas night? |
Love which in spight of darknesse brought us hether, |
Should in despight of light keepe us together. |
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Light hath no tongue, but is all eye; |
If it could speake as well as spie, |
This were the worst, that it could say, |
That being well, I faine would stay, |
And that I lov'd my heart and honor so, |
That I would not from him, that had them, goe. |
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Must businesse thee from hence remove? |
Oh, that's the worst disease of love, |
The poore, the foule, the false, love can |
Admit, but not the busied man. |
He which hath businesse, and makes love, doth doe |
Such wrong, as when a maryed man doth wooe.
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[CW: The] |