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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.
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.

[CW: Such]