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Contemnenti.

Continuall burning, yet no fire or fuel,
Chill icie frosts in midst of summers frying,
A hell most pleasing, and a heav'n most cruel,
A death still living, and a life still dying,
And whatsoever pains poore hearts can prove,
I feel, and utter in one word, i love.
Two fires, of love and grief, each upon either,
And both upon one poore heart ever feeding;
Chill cold despair, most cold, yet cooling neither,
In midst of fires his ycie frosts is breeding:
So fires and frosts, to make a perfect hell,
Meet in one breast, in one house friendly dwell.
Tir'd in this toylsome way (my deep affection)
I ever forward runne, and never ease me:
I dare not swerve, her eye is my direction:
A heavie grief, and weighty love oppresse me.
Desire and hope, two spurres, that forth compell'd me;
But awfull fear, a bridle, still withheld me.

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Twice have I plung'd, and flung, and strove to cast
This double burden from my weary heart:
Fast though I runne, and stop, they sit as fast:
Her looks my bait, which she doth seld’ impart.
Thus fainting, still some inne I wish and crave;
Either her maiden bosome, or my grave.