| The Whole Works of William Browne | |
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1.
[Loe, I the man, that whilome lou'd & lost]
Loe, I the man, that whilome lou'd & lost,
Not dreading losse, doe sing againe of loue;
And like a man but latelie tempest-tost,
Try if my starres still inauspicious proue:
Not to make good, that poets neuer can
Long time without a chosen Mistris be,
Doe I sing thus; or my affections ran
Within the Maze of Mutabilitie;
What best I lov'de, was beauty of the mind,
And that lodgd in a Temple truely faire,
Which ruyn'd now by death, if I can finde
The Saint that livd therein some otherwhere,
I may adore it there, and love the Cell
For entertaining what I lov'd so well.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |
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