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16
[If any live that fain would prove]
If any live that fain would prove,
How powerful is the God of love,
& yet himselfe goe free,
Let him on me but fix his eyes,
& he shall read loves tyranies,
And soon shall perfect be,
In his Anatomie.
How powerful is the God of love,
& yet himselfe goe free,
Let him on me but fix his eyes,
& he shall read loves tyranies,
And soon shall perfect be,
In his Anatomie.
So many Stars, are not it'h skies,
Nor yet in burning Autumne flies,
Or Birds in Ayre doe hover;
The Spring hath not so many Buds,
Nor drops are in the Ocean Flouds
As griefes you may discover
In me poore Constant Lover.
Nor yet in burning Autumne flies,
Or Birds in Ayre doe hover;
The Spring hath not so many Buds,
Nor drops are in the Ocean Flouds
As griefes you may discover
In me poore Constant Lover.
Long paine and sorrow short, injoying
A dying life, lifes good destroying,
Fond hope desires vaine,
Small thankes, lesse faith, but great tormentings,
False smiles, true teares, and true lamentings;
These (if y'observe) you'le gaine
Experience by my paine.
A dying life, lifes good destroying,
Fond hope desires vaine,
Small thankes, lesse faith, but great tormentings,
False smiles, true teares, and true lamentings;
These (if y'observe) you'le gaine
Experience by my paine.
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