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Though thou bee much lou'd in the Princes hall [117] |
There, things that seeme, exceed substantiall. |
Gods, when you fum'd on Altars, were pleasd well |
That you were burnt, not that they likd the smell |
Y'are lothesome all beeing simply ta'ne alone, |
Shall wee loue ill things ioynd, and hate each one? |
If you were good, that good doth soone decay |
And you ar rare that take the good away. |
All my perfumes I giue most willingly |
To embalme thy fathers corps, what will hee dye? |
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P. Elegy.3. |
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ffond woman, w.ch wouldst haue thy husband dye |
And yet complaynst of his greate Iealousy! |
If swolne with poyson hee lay in his last bedd |
His body with a Seare barke couered |
Drawing his breath, as thick and short, as can |
The nimblest crotcheting Musitian |
Ready with lothesome vomiting to spue |
His soule out of one Hell into a New |
Made deafe with his poore kindreds howling cryes |
Begging with few faynd teares greate Legacyes, |
Thou wouldst not weepe, but iolly and frolick bee |
As a slaue, w.ch to morrow should bee free |
Yet weepst thou when thou seest him hungerly |
Swallow his owne death harts-bane Iealousy
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[CW: Ô giue___] |