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Foolish I, why should I grieue,
To sustaine what others feele?
VVhat suppose, fraile women leaue,
Those they lou'd, should I conceale
Comforts rest,
From my brest.
For a fickle, brittle woman,
Noe, Noe, Noe,
Let her goe,
Such as these be true to no man.
Long retired hast thou beene,
Sighing on these barren rocks,
Nor by sheepe nor shepheard seeene,
Now returne vnto thy flockes,
Shame away,
Doe not stay,

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With these mouing-louing woman,
The remoue
From their loue:
Such as these doe oft vndoe men.
Tender-tinder of Affection,
If I harbour thee againe,
I will doe it by direction,
Of some graue experienc't swaine.
Nere will I,
Loue by th' eye,
But where iudgement first hath tride,
If I liue,
Ere to loue,
It is she, shall be my bride.