LOVE is too young
to know what conscience is; |
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Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? |
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Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, |
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Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove: |
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For, thou betraying me, I do betray |
5 |
My nobler part to my gross bodys treason; |
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My soul doth tell my body that he may |
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Triumph in love; flesh stays no further reason, |
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But rising at thy name doth point out thee |
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As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, |
10 |
He is contented thy poor drudge to be, |
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To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. |
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No want of conscience hold it
that I call |
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Her love for whose
dear love I rise and fall. |
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