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By drawing in a leprous harlots breath, |
By thee, the greatest staine to mans estate |
Falls on us, to be call'd effeminate; |
Though you be much lov'd in the Princes hall, |
There, things that seeme, exceed substantiall. |
Gods, when yee fum'd on altars, were pleas'd well, |
Because you'were burnt, not that they lik'd your smell, |
You'are loathsome all, being taken simply alone, |
Shall wee love ill things joyn'd, and hate each one? |
If you were good, your good doth soone decay; |
And you are rare, that takes the good away. |
All my perfumes, I give most willingly |
To'embalme thy fathers corse; What? will hee die? |
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Elegie V. |
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Here take my Picture, though I bid farewell; |
Thine, in my heart, where my soule dwels, shall dwell. |
'Tis like me now, but I dead, 'twill be more |
When wee are shadowes both, then 'twas before. |
When weather-beaten I come backe; my hand, |
Perhaps with rude oares torne, or Sun beams tann'd, |
My face and brest of hairecloth, and my head |
With cares rash sodaine stormes, being o'rspread, |
My body'a sack of bones, broken within, |
And powders blew staines scatter'd on my skinne; |
If rivall fooles taxe thee to'have lov'd a man,
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[CW: So] |