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Of my lifes lease; like Painters that do take |
Delight, not in made worke, but whiles they make; |
I could renew those times, when first I saw |
Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the law |
To like what you lik'd; and at maskes and playes |
Commend the selfe same Actors, the same wayes; |
Aske how you did, and often with intent |
Of being officious, be impertinent; |
All which were such soft pastimes, as in these |
Love was as subtilly catch'd, as a disease; |
But being got it is a treasure sweet, |
Which to defend is harder then to get: |
And ought not be prophan'd on either part, |
For though 'tis got by chance, 'tis kept by art. |
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No Lover saith, I love, nor any other |
Can judge a perfect Lover; |
Hee thinkes that else none can or will agree, |
That any loves but hee: |
I cannot say I lov'd, for who can say |
Hee was kill'd yesterday. |
Love with excesse of heat, more yong then old, |
Death kills with too much cold; |
Wee dye but once, and who lov'd last did die, |
Hee that saith twice, doth lye: |
For though hee seeme to move, and stirre a while, |
It doth the sense beguile.
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[CW: Such] |