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The Whole Works of William Browne

of Tavistock ... Now first collected and edited, with a memoir of the poet, and notes, by W. Carew Hazlitt, of the Inner Temple

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What certaine death could neuer make him doe
(With Cælia's losse), her presence forc'd him to.
She that could cleere his greatest clouds of woes,
Some part of woman made him now disclose,
And shew'd him all in teares: And for a while
Out of his heart vnable to exile
His troubling thoughts in words to be conceiu'd;
But weighing what the world should be bereau'd,
He of his sighes and throbs some license wan,
And to the sad spectators thus began:
Hasten! ô haste! the houre's already gone,
Doe not deferre the execution!
Nor make my patience suffer ought of wrong!
'Tis nought to dye, but to be dying long!
Some fit of Frenzie hath possest the Maid:
She could not doe it, though she had assaid,

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No bough growes in her reach; nor hath the tree
A spray so weake to yeeld to such as she.
To win her loue I broke it, but vnknowne
And vndesir'd of her; Then let her owne
No touch of preiudice without consent,
Mine was the fact, be mine the punishment!