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Poore victories; But if you dare be brave, |
And pleasure in your conquest have, |
First kill th'enormous Gyant, your Disdaine, |
And let th'enchantresse Honor, next be slaine, |
And like a Goth and Vandall rize, |
Deface Records, and Histories |
Of your owne arts and triumphs over men, |
And without such advantage kill me then. |
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For I could muster up as well as you |
My Gyants, and my Witches too, |
Which are vast Constancy, and Secretnesse, |
But these I neyther looke for, nor professe, |
Kill mee as Woman, let mee die |
As a meere man; doe you but try |
Your passive valor, and you shall finde than, |
In that you'have odds enough of any man. |
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The Dissolution. |
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Shee'is dead; And all which die |
To their first Elements resolve; |
And wee were mutuall Elements to us, |
And made of one another. |
My body then doth hers involve, |
And those things whereof I consist, hereby |
In me abundant grow, and burdenous, |
And nourish not, but smother.
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[CW: My] |