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Yet do not; I would not go,

Though at next door we might meet.
Though she were true when you met her,
And last till you


Yet she

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✓ BLASTED with sighs, and sùrrounded with tears,

Hither I come to seek the spring,

And at mine eyes, and at mine ears, Receive such balms as else cure every thing.

But O! self-traitor, I do bring The spider3 Love, which transubstantiates all,

And can convert manna to gall ; And that this place may thoroughly be thought True Paradise, I have the serpent brought.

'T were wholesomer for me that winter did

Benight the glory of this place,

And that a grave frost did forbid These trees to laugh and mock me to my


; But that I may not this disgrace Endure, nor yet leave loving, Love, let me

Some senseless piece of this place be ; Make me a mandrake,4 so I may grow here, Or a stone fountain weeping out my year.

Hither with crystal phials, lovers, come,

And take my tears, which are Love's wine,

And try your mistress' tears at home,
For all are false, that taste not just like mine.

Alas! hearts do not in eyes shine,
Nor can you more judge women's thoughts by tears,

Than by her shadow what she wears.
O perverse sex, where none is true but she,
Who's therefore true, because her truth kills me.

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Send home my long stray'd eyes to me,
Which, O! too long have dwelt on thee;
Yet since there they have learn'd such ill,

Such forced fashions,
And false passions,

That they be

Made by thee
Fit for no good sight, keep them still.

Send home my harmless heart again,
Which no unworthy thought could stain ;
But if it be taught by thine

To make jestings
Of protestings,

And break both

Word and oath,
Keep it, for then 't is none of mine.

Yet send me back

heart and

eyes, That I may know and see thy lies,

And may laugh and joy, when thou

Art in anguish
And dost languish

For some one

That will none,

Or prove as false as thou art now.

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