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Of protestings,
And break both
Word and oath,
Keep it still 'tis none of mine.
Yet send me back my heart and eyes,
That I may know, and see thy lies,
And may laugh and joy, when thou
Art in anguish
And dost languish
For some one
That will none,
Or prove as false as thou dost now.
A Nocturnal upon S. Lucies day
being the shortest day.
'Tis the years midnight, and it is the dayes,
Lucies, who scarce seven hours her self unmasks,
The Sun is spent, and now his flasks,
Send forth light squibs, no constant rayes;
The worlds whole sap is sunk:
The general balm th' hydroptique earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the beds-feet life is shrunk,
Dead and enterr'd; yet all these seem to laugh,
Compar'd with me, who am their Epitaph.
Study me then, you who shall lovers be
At the next world, that is, at the next Spring:
For I am a very dead thing,
In whom love wrought new Alchymy.

[CW: For]