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Sonnets. 9.

[It is after our deathes, a thing mani-fest.]

It is after our deathes, a thing mani-fest.
We bothe goe to hell, and suffer hellishe paines:


you, for your rigour, I, for my thoughts haultaines,
That attempt to loue a Goddesse so Celest.
But as for mee I shall be lyttle afflicted,
Tis you (my warrier) that must haue the torment:
For I that but, in seeing you am content:
you, with mee, I'll blesse the place so much detested.
And my soule that is raued with your fayre eyes,
In the midst of hell, wyll establishe, a skeyes:
Making my bright day, in the eternall night.
And when all the damned else are in annoy:
I'll smyle in that glorie, seeing you my ioy:
And being once there, goe not out of our sight.