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| Shine here to us, and thou art every where, |
| This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphear. |
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| The Indifferent. |
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| I can love both fair and brown, |
| Her whom aboundance melts, and her whom want betrayes, |
| Her who loves lovers best, and her who sports and playes, |
| Her whom the country form'd, and whom the Town, |
| Her who believes, and her who tries; |
| Her who still weeps with spungie eyes, |
| And her who is dry Cork, and never cries; |
| I can love her, and her, and you and you, |
| I can love any, so she be not true. |
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| Will no other vice content you? |
| Will it not serve your turn to do, as did your mothers? |
| Or have you all old vices worn, and now would find out others? |
| Or doth a fear, that men are true, torment you? |
| Oh we are not, be not you so, |
| Let me; and do you, twenty know. |
| Rob me, but bind me not, and let me go, |
| Must, I, who came to travel thorow you, |
| Grow your fixt subject, because you are true? |
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| Venus heard me sing this song, |
| And by Loves sweetest sweet, Variety, she swore, |
| She heard not this till now; it should be so no more. |
| She went, examin'd, and return'd ere long, |
| And said, alas, Some two or three |
| Poor Heretiques in love there be, |
| Which think to stablish dangerous constancy,
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[CW: But] |