ghine

    to make jestings

    Of protestings,

    And break both

    ord and oath,

    Keep it, for tis none of mine.

    Yet send me back my  and eyes,

    t I may knohy lies,

    And may laughou

    Art in anguish

    And dost languish

    For some one

    t will none,

    Or prove as false as t now.

    tIS t, and it is the days,

    Lucys, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks ;

    t, and now his flasks

    Send fort squibs, no constant rays ;

    the worlds whole sap is sunk ;

    tic earth drunk,

    o t, life is shrunk,

    Dead and interrd ; yet all to laugh,

    Compared aph.

    Study me then, you who shall lovers be

    At t  is, at t spring ;

    For I am every dead thing,

    In w new alchemy.

    For  did express

    A quintessence even from nothingness,

    From dull privations, and lean emptiness ;

    Of absence, darkness, deat.

    All ots good,

    Life, soul, form, spirit, whey being have ;

    I, by Loves limbec, am the grave

    Of all, ts not a flood

    , and so

    Dro did we grow,

    to be two chaoses, when we did show

    Care to augen absences

    ithdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.

    But I am by h—which word wrongs her—

    Of t nothe elixir grown ;

    ere I a man, t I were one

    I needs must know ; I should prefer,

    If I ,

    Some ends, some means ; yea plants, yea stones detest,

    And love