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O heart ! as the Times make you melancholy,
Suddenly your pure spirit will leave your body,
Sit upon the grass, & drink pleasantly so many cups
Ere the grass shall grow from your clay.

 

P 133

O heart, since the time still chagrinful doth make thee,
And the soul will ere long altogether forsake thee,
Ere the green from thine ashes spring up, on the greensward
A day or two sit and to pleasance betake thee. 

Th 447

O Sweetheart, since the world doth sadden thee,
And from thy body soon the soul will flee.
Ere verdure from thine ashes springeth up,
These few days on the green rest cheerfully.

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