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Others by Wills give Legacies, but I |
Dying, of you do beg a Legacy. |
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My fortune and my will this custom break, |
When we are senseless grown to make stones speak, |
Though no stone tell thee what I was, yet thou |
In my graves inside see what thou art now: |
Yet th'art not yet so good; till us death lay |
To ripe and mellow there, w'are stubborn clay, |
Parents make us earth, and souls dignifie |
Us to be glass, here to grow gold we ly; |
Whilst in our souls sin bred and pamper'd is, |
Our souls becom worm-eaten Carcasses. |
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[Transcriptions are not provided for noncanonical poems, elegies on Donne by other authors, or prose compositions] |