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I fix mine eye on thine, and there

Pity my picture burning in thine eye; My picture drown’d in a transparent tear, When I look lower I espy:

Hadst thou the wicked skill By pictures made and marr'd, to kill, How many ways mightst thou perform thy will!

But now I've drunk thy sweet salt tears,

And though thou pour more, I 'll depart:
My picture vanish’d, vanish fears
That I can be endamaged by that art :

Though thou retain of me
One picture more, yet that will be,
Being in thine own heart, from all malice free.

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Thou art not so black as my heart, Nor half so brittle as her heart, thou art; What wouldst thou say ? shall both our properties by

thee be spoke, Nothing more endless, nothing sooner broke?

Marriage rings are not of this stuff; Oh, why should ought less precious, or less tough, Figure our loves ? except in thy name thou have bid it

say “I'm cheap, and nought but fashion ; fing me away."

Yet stay with me since thou art come, Circle this finger's top, which didst her thumb; Be justly proud, and gladly safe, that thou dost dwell

with me;

She that, O.! broke her faith, would soon break thee.

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Come,live with me, and be my love,
And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands and crystal brooks,
With silken lines and silver hooks.

There will the river whisp'ring run
Warm’d by thine eyes, more than the sun ;
And there th' enamour'd fish will stay,
Begging themselves they may betray.

When thou wilt swim in that live bath,
Each fish, which every channel hath,
Will amorously to thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.

If thou, to be so seen, be'st loth,
By sun or moon, thou dark’nest both,
And if myself have leave to see,
I need not their light, having thee.

Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legs with shells and weeds,


Or treacherously poor fish beset,
With strangling snare, or windowy net.
Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest;
Or, curious traitors, sleave-silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes.

For thee, thou need'st no such deceit,
For thou thyself art thine own bait :
That fish, that is not catch'd thereby,
Alas! is wiser far than I.

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So 50—, break off this last lamenting kiss,

Which sucks two souls, and vapours both away ; Turn, thou ghost, that way, and let me turn this,

And let ourselves benight our happiest day: We ask'd none leave to love ; nor will we owe

Any so cheap a death as saying, o Go."

Go!— and if that word have not quite kill'd thee,

Ease me with death, by bidding me go too; Or, if it have, let my word work on me,

And a just office on a murderer do ; Except it be too late, to kill me so,

Being double dead, going, and bidding go.

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