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For theis there needs noe such deceite, [f. 77]
Thou* thy selfe art thine owne bayte
That fish that is not ketcht thereby
Alas, is wiser farr then I.
The Aparition.
When by thy scorne, oh Murdress, I am dead
And that thou thinkst thee free
From all solicitatōn from me,
Then shall my Ghost come to thy bedd,
And thee faind vestall in worse armes shall see,
Then thy sick Taper will begin to winck
And he whose thou art then, being tired before
Will, if thou stirr, or pinch to wake him, thinke
Thou callst for more,
And in false sleepe, will from thee shrinck,
Thou poore Aspen wretch neglected then
Both in a Cold quick silver sweat wilt lye
A verier ghost then I.
What I will say I will not tell thee now
Least yt preserve Thee, And since my loue is spent,
I had rather, Thou shouldst painfully repent
Then by my threatnings rest still innocent.|

[CW: om]