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yet weigh me. My soul fleets[441] when I think what you have done, And thorough[442] every vein doth cold blood run. Then thee whom I must love, I hate in vain, And would be dead, but dead[443] with thee remain. 40 I'll not sift much, but hold thee soon excused. Say but thou wert injuriously accused. Though while the deed be doing you be took, And I see when you ope the two-leaved book,[444] Swear I was blind; deny[445] if you be wise, And I will trust your words more than mine eyes. From him that yields, the palm[446] is quickly got, Teach but your tongue to say, "I did it not," And being justified by two words, think The cause acquits you not, but I[447] that wink. 50 FOOTNOTES: [435] So Isham copy and eds. B, C.--Ed. A "wit." [436] So Isham copy.--Ed. A "night-sports." [437] So eds. B, C.--Isham copy and ed. A "Or." [438] So Isham copy.--Ed. A "people." [439] So Isham copy.--Ed. A "toyes." [440] So eds. B, C.--Isham copy and ed. A "mine ever yours." [441] "Mens abit." [442] So eds. B, C.--Isham copy and ed. A "through." [443] So eds. B, C.--Isham copy and ed. A "dying." [444] The original has "Et fuerint oculis probra videnda meis." [445] So eds. B, C.--Isham copy and ed. A "yeeld not." [446] So eds. B, C.--Isham copy and ed. A "garland." [447] So Isham copy and eds. A, B.--Ed. C "that I." ELEGIA XV.[448] Ad Venerem, quod elegis finem imponat. Tender Loves' mother[449] a new poet get, This last end to my Elegies is set.[450] Which I, Peligny's foster-child, have framed, Nor am I by such wanton toys defamed. Heir of an ancient house, if help that can, Not only by war's rage[451] made gentleman. In Virgil Mantua joys: in Catull Verone; Of me Peligny's nation boasts alone; Whom liberty to honest arms compelled, When careful Rome in doubt their prowess held.[452] 10 And some guest viewing watery Sulmo's walls, Where little ground to be enclosed befalls, "How such a poet could you bring forth?" says: "How small soe'er, I'll you for greatest praise." Both loves, to whom my heart long time did yield,[453] Your golden ensigns pluck[454] out of my field. Horned Bacchus graver fury doth distil, A greater ground with great horse is to till. Weak Elegies, delightful Muse, farewell; A work
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