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Therefore Ile give no more, but I'le undo |
The world by dying: because love dies too. |
Then all your beauties will be no more worth |
Then gold in Mines, where none doth draw it forth; |
And all your graces no more use shall have, |
Than a Sun-dyal in a grave. |
Thou Love taught'st me, by making me |
Love her who doth neglect both me and thee, |
To invent and practise this one way, to annihilate thee. |
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The Funeral. |
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Who ever comes to shroud me, do not harm |
Nor question much |
That subtle wreath of hair, about myne arm; |
The mystery, the sign you must not touch, |
For 'tis my outward Soul, |
Viceroy to that, which unto heaven being gone, |
Will leave this to controul, |
And keep these limbes, her Provinces, from dissolution. |
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For if the sinewie thread my brain lets fall |
Through every part, |
Can ty those parts, and make me one of all; |
Those hairs which upward grow, and strength and art |
Have from a better brain, |
Can better do't: except she meant that I |
By this should know my pain, |
As prisoners then are manacl'd, when they are condemn'd to die. |
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What 'ere she meant by 't bury it with me, |
For since I am |
Loves martyr, it might breed Idolatry,
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[CW: If] |