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To th' Church he did allow her dresse,
True Beauty, to true Holinesse.

Peace, which he lov'd in life, did lend

Her hand to bring him to his end.

When Age and Death call'd for the score,
No surfets were to reckon for.


Death tore not-therefore-but sans strife

Gently untwin'd his thread of life.

What remaines then, but that thou

Write these lines, Reader, in thy brow,


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1 Appeared originally in 'Delights' of 1646 (pp. 132-3), and was reprinted in 1648 (p. 42); but not in 1670. Our text is that of 1648; but all agree. The original is found in Carm. v. 2. The SANCROFT M.S. reads line 4 Blithest :' line 9 numerous:' line 12A:' line 17 'our.' G.

2. Where ere she lye,

Lock't up from mortall eye,

In shady leaves of Destiny;

3. Till that ripe birth

Of studied Fate stand forth,

And teach her faire steps tread our Earth;

4. Till that divine

Idæa, take a shrine

Of chrystall flesh, through which to shine;

5. Meet you her, my wishes,

Bespeake her to my blisses,



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6. I wish her, beauty

That owes not all its duty

To gaudy tire or glistring shoo-ty,

7. Something more than

Taffata or tissew can,

Or rampant feather, or rich fan.

S. More than the spoyle

Of shop, or silkeworme's toyle,

Or a bought blush, or a set smile.

9. A face that's best

By its owne beauty drest,

And can alone commend the rest.



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18. Each ruby there,

Or pearle that dares appeare,

Be its own blush, be its own teare.

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23. Ioyes, that confesse,

Vertue their mistresse,

And have no other head to dresse.

24. Feares, fond, and flight,

As the coy bride's, when Night
First does the longing lover right.

25. Teares, quickly fled,

And vaine, as those are shed

For a dying maydenhead.

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