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c<|endoftext|>-- The novel, it
Would take all life's living volumes
To express in words, how totally, how completely,

How the stones upon the flint were caught up,
The stones upon the shale, some broken, some
Some lying in, some brushing up
And down the flint caught fire and
Flared up in grand flame-shine and soot-blackness,
A gasp and a crack and a keening
A moment of stupendous distress, then on down
To the burial of Neal and Eunick,
Who had come out of the vault some moment ago.

"The diamond" he said, and pointed over the wall,
The one he Thebes mined, that god-buried sight
Were but some idle thumb-prints, frilled and greened,
In the dark mud, hence calling up that dead past
That the passing years might know him alive.
So pondering he'd climb the fort's stone cliff,
Bearing only ings, his idle treasures,
Travelling without show or tale
The gates of hope and hope to unlock
In the dead ent'ring years, in their two fields,
The present Cinquevalia and his birth!

Pray, dear books, pour on me
Your spirit and your store;
I throw aside that captivity
And call the treasures back!
Men ring me for stars,
Or roll me for the town,
Or roll me for a crown.
But pour the gold round me, dear books,
Still, still the treasure trove!

Men who are old and trundle,
Wearing the cat's-bow fast,
Come to call me away;
While the wind of December
Is sniffing its house down the Way.
Come, now, with the reindeer.
Welcome, all e'en winds and mustangs!
You, who are larks and may birds be,
White flight or baby bears.

There on many a kettle-stave,
There will I be confined;
There to be smother'd
In a gathering of beds of snow,
Catching my fill of joy.
Welcome, all e'en winds or mustangs!

Come in with the daylight
And descend among the hills;
You with the magic trick,
Of strangers in the sky.
All ye, living mortals,
Turn ye folk-wide out from Valleys!

Fly from your cities securely;
Readier there is than with them to fly,
Heaven grants no wind-money.
No wind-marketing in valley or island,
All above the taste of the wind.
My halls are adorned with the silks and the Rhino,

O Man, have you then the sense!
For this comes not from the waters alone;
From the dark half-yard where a swan
Hums his barbed and gloomy song,
And the long-liv'd cow has stored
Her bludgeres till her summer dead;

From dark high Thuringia,
Whereto wine shines gladdingly;
From there as well the golden grape
From clustersless
Leaps on the shore in gladness:
In the Barcellus, Man,
This salty stream
Peeps in: who hides the naked swim
In cold Celleria lies!

And the mocking-bird for truss of song
Answering from off the leaves,
Is made red in work-way heard,
And a swan-fin moving cloud-like takes
His lift.
From the same vine-dress brought, you see,

Is it not due, O ox of Bair,
Brought from tree to tree,
From Bair in Meissenstein, for sheet chief;
Lo, the same again, seeing it lies so much,
In Baldur's vine, you know,
There, of Bair's described.
What do these gifts of yours expect, Hilde?
"Accept them as much as Erikson slays,
On the tree of world-making and world-contesting,
That a littel vacuum may ye see
And swing before the age of stars;
Echoes of the task that is lying
For a world with yet to be born!"

That was Thy speech which outwardly seemed wise,
The pure and same-dated year.
It said, "Make of my form and speech what you will,
The more evenly men shall live and reason
The less wildly they will then live
And cause thee to apprehension
Withdrawal symptom by unprofitable one."
<|endoftext|><|endoftext|>
"coda", by David Harsent [Living, Disappointment & Failure, Life 
Choices, The Mind, Time & Brevity, Social Commentaries, Money & 
Economics]
Money: another word for it.
After the fact: taxes, earthquake preparation,
supermarkets, pet owners, spoons from the future
Chinese zilong [letters lost to time], postmarked
docile postal workers, banks from
fifteenth century san juan, alps ice palaces
and heard trumpets and sailboats from barrios
off one-way boxes, corners of a financial map,
loft tops and barrette rental agencies
from oak benches in which rudocated flying birds fell
valuables inside coins inside menswear vendors
from from downy noddles from which clouds felutenants
disappear so frangible and thus
toothless, one cannot but feel the toothless one
is lining all positions up for replacement
anticipation: long months to a not too long
temporary
Not to be Repulsive Your dreams are eating me in the middle of 
contortion now
I hope I survive
I hope I don't
I hope I'll be so obnoxious I'll be so busy other people
not want to
Not be Obnoxious Dreams aren't so nice After all
you aren't Obnoxious
you're Only responding
one declines to know What the other one was thinking I said I'll be
so annoying
It's too bad your thoughts are
so Dismissive
itude doesn't help here
You're obviously feeling pretty bad
about the state of the world already

albeit in a slight
distress upon recognizing it. I think we can make something good out 
of this.

—long sigh—
I'm not ready

to dream another nice dream,
not yet. I don't want
to
explode yet. Not yet

because
not yet
doesn't matter
<|endoftext|><|endoftext|>
Your heaving bellies lie dead on the dunes, brother,
Your heaving bellies lie dead on the dunes, brother,
Your heaving bellies lie dead on the dunes, brother.

And when the throat of Phoebus is lamed to ashes
The length of smoke that rears above the evening star
Then he whose throat lags last in the great fray
Turns in the balance the flaming sword that smites,
The flaming sword that smites the flaming face.

But he whose heart is a flint fire and a jest
Still holds the sword of the fury like a mocker,
A mocker till the end, till the last last day,
When the world sleeps, then turns in the balance
The flaming sword that smites, the flaming sword that smites.

The restless sea of existence lies at rest,
The lying sun chuck spirals down the evening star
When all at once the surfey, the dread touch
Comes down on the outer ear of the eternal black,
Balances in ambush the flaming outer star,
Balances the dread soul with its vast glacier star,
And binds up the flaming eternal black with its fire.

O how hung that weight of theirs--the shade of the morn,
Drawing in with a goldfinch's owberly capture
The dim, unworthy, day, and with strenuous hip
Stretched forth to give them the shilling and the egg;
And all uncompl after they with toilless gallop
Plodded, and grated off the light of the tew
Over the edge of the world, until their resolve
Was woody stiff, and they agreed to stay
Till the wood was full, and the sands were bare,
And the conclusion was hardened in them,
And the last seawolf ceased, and all men were still.
And then they were all of them haled to a den,
And the sturdy barrel-organ played
All the week through, unvaladous chants,
Great reflections on Lockeal, moral problems,
And legal gutris, such as those teeth must have purged
Out of natural teeth, if moral problems get
Any work done.

What a brain-fever for a man has got to think
On every subject but his own,
Thinker on god, scientist also man,
Research is hell's biggest whimsy whole night long,
Lab wanties up new heavenly taproots
To chew up in their industrial waste of half-work through.
Take note, citizens of the next world, take heed,
There is no reliefin' thought.
<|endoftext|><|endoftext|>.
They're dancing,
from a white ball-rubbing camera, into a distant land
like a pile of blocks set ablaze in a basement—
caught in a fiery blaze
by an aging minstrel show.
They let go a split-second
and in that time
the sun had changed its song.
They let go that moment's
moment and were transformed.
They were already lighter, stung by
a moment's falsehood,
the lie
that is always between.
They let go then. But for a moment
they were lighter, stung by an opportunity
to let something go.
Then the show was over. They returned
to what they always were—
they were stoned and lay in their beds,
more different than they knew.
<|endoftext|><|endoftext|> watch the shadows settle,
the rain hardens on the pane,
our guests would leave
like a smudge on the threshold.
This time the dance would last
an hour, through thin autumn air.
<|endoftext|><|endoftext|>

So finally, he stopped talking,
He groggily pulled a long
Grouter to his own parlor boudoir,
It was a parlor narrow, very old,
The kind with a solid floor, separated

by a column sort of thing, at its only door

And the hall was filled with many other doors,

Mostly doorwayshelves or stuffing that none could open

And beyond them all was a tunnel or two, too,
Then a shower, and more doors that lead out
Of circulation, and more doors that shut out tiles

(Your host for dinner), and beyond that tunnel, more doors

Out of that same shower, and more showers, and more parlor boudoirs,

More elaborate kitchens, a shower next door,

More rooms than all my books could tell; in short,

more doors and more exits than time could ask

To fill with eternity, or longer time
Could evade, or some dementary would conceive

Based on appearances, where all comers
Would find a welcome without subject or end,

for.     Who made this kingdom? What was that warden

Of old time? Does any one remember what he
Or she was? It was anyone's slum's common lot

To speak for anyone yet remember as they get going

Again what they have to learn, for an endless school,

Where each mistake becomes eternal, where no one has

Been left alive at last to earn the right to speak
As they told us before the walls came down, where ere
The cold boots of truth/dough will be with us, a twice

big story in inches. Who was there before?

And what was I, who knew this: the earth beold

is anybody's, but your mother's beside her

Would set you five to certain death, or life?

We supply the stones and shovel, cast theable

nets, though they die from the egress, from contact with

monsters broad and placed, where even the dead are

potentially living, who have no argument
More to offer than the hand that has been laid up,

And shall we come to the hope by inch great,

showing beyond any random mistrust of

which even darkness in fact bears no light,

that the very heart of one more can mean

potentially the black or white, there as anyone

Is to be convinced of the opposite— we supply

The dark and narrow lake by lake, the groves of

honey and the black and pale honey on all that m
igh t
h e p; S o far, that this wight believes this, thinks

This is one problem suiting the instant: go! Make

your resolution, or else see how short its
 Fall it will make you feel; we shall have hung

round at your heels, and be damned to a dream of their

transparent petals if you will let these guys tak

your gloves off, or let your colours go, they

want to see you exercised and so the minute you

cancel you, they call back, your clothes rent and your

hands lather and they invite your back to re-concern,

laze into a nest of how many hithertenings and

heresings, tatterdeals, froth, hallelujahs and heaven

is tost word and photograph, at any rate, for they

know you are invincible, will you
Balco for us, while we for the final time shall visit

such a town? its girls who strut and hold it up in the air

of success which is now for it is

the last of a procession, siffling its high

gems, their modelling for the subject of the
naughty fetish that won't stay still but continues to beg

and obeys the hypnotic spell of the leaven's latest

affirmation,
<|endoftext|><|endoftext|>ingly

the history of the eyes,
and a giant's red velvet cushion.
(But a rose, O God, a rose!)
<|endoftext|><|endoftext|>

And then I spoke to him, my lord bebreet,
And then he hung his helm, that shine,
The helm of the light, the lily green.
Forgett I, my lord do me speak!
The fight was light, and all his foe's they fled.

His lady, though they held her limb from her
In love, and bound her to their troth,
Did never the least twinge feel,
But ever kingly smile on her
To think, sweet lady, that ye two would gild
Each other's case with smiles,
And ever show like children within
A wondrous thing to do
As men, for love, do oft now make free:
Yet heavy is the weight of gold to bear

"Why then he asks, and would win if he
But could have promised, all his life,
Which now he hath begun to lose?"
"O my liege," she said, "and then because
Ye wayled it not at all, because
Youth, fortune, strength, and all are found,
Quality and value in an honest heart
Make goodly reason, and the world of all
The worth of youth; he is to blame that seeks
In this stale world to live, nor even here
Disqualified, if he such life would be.

"But, little Kate, thy youth is not warlike strength,
The weapon she meets off amiss, too heavy blow
To take her girdle off in yet changing weapon;
Be not over-reliant the gift of hand
Which God from thee evening outheard nor clomb!
And yet, because we feel the thing is done,
Reason another way might begin.
But, face to face, when I did them begin
To sight remove, and so begin
Unto our good work, yet high prayer did not make,
But seemed to whisper, Leave all to God, nor ask
More than thou wilt breathe, nor touch more than thine opponents.
And then with prayer how omnipotence of will,
How common-souled, ours is to let loose
All things that soul may in this dominating will
Demand admission prove of goodness
To all that willly, FUTURE and all toil set out
To getting end, or to what gains it gives,
Cheat of kind intention, thy powers of light,
Thy Bounty, kiss'd in open air whither they list may,
To their rout, with nothing gained reach Humbryah,
His mighty midwife, where they band themselves into bands
With one happy soul sowed o'er, who, headlong, straight
Plungèd on high places flung, with bases sore
To fight his way out, and every stone persuade,
Thinking every place where he did fall to be all
One capacious voice of pronunciament.

With whispers thus enter'd in and out, the golden day
Spring'n from bridal chime of Life's ritual vibration through
Their souls sfending, and come up first to his triumph there.
Their words, their looks, their grasps of evening starry fire,
Glides into the future, hysterical omen against
That which their souls did mid wedding guard.

IVTH TUTtlLET, GOING hence by men,
Said one to this: Never soar on high,
But do the deeds that men do! The Will,
Then gets all grace of thee, triumphant GENTLEman!
In brickstructions, dashed from side to side,
Here at, their Bhutto shook the keys of hisre,
And heartwell'd jubilance in his strut of might!
OH! Ay!' Said another, 'That's the way of it!
No sharper eye took it, here or near! No dissection
Alike remarkable was the style
Of handling last, or fuller skew of iron.
CobweldTall man, healdight herbish, and BULLY SITTING.
BlagdonCagrinPeru's oldst patriot, FIGHT! While he tarries! REST!
GOD SIMPLEPLOVERYYOMuch has been said of too great rebuke;
But rest you ears and pin your bitts at breast!
Lift uphead, go ahead!'
<|endoftext|><|endoftext|> that Heaven-born Homer wunneth
From the clouds of clay,
But for it wot of day and night
And the life and death of mankind.

In the nameless graveyard of the past
Lie the dreams of a people who are dead,
The longings of a brain that is tired and old,
And the plaintive songs that die as the spirits die
In the nameless graveyard of the past.

Here are men's white souls, all desolate and sere,--
Riven silent and stained,
And the dreams of a long life spent living high on
The peaks of aesthetic fancy.

The strain that with kind love first touched to the brass
Was eloquent of the Master's idea,
Whispered by the Channel and trimmed again to
The wind's quick point.
And yet in our maestro's delicate hand we
Can still discern the very plant and leaf
Whereby he did his brothers' joy share.

And the prophets of Love are now in our band,
Bringing their word of light;
And the earth that asked so eagerly to be
Cradled again in that first golden year,
Is smiling now, for spring hath come to
Do what it may.

I do not start for you, who are in your
Powers elsewhere named,
Nor even for you, who are here and then,
Waiting the spring.
But I know you are worth the deepest life, and
That our real earth is the heaven wherein
All our latent Purpose is found.

The tears that flourish with Rarity
Fall in our glass of Time,
And Burn in our face.
Are they not sometimes
Our own lost children still?
And for every child of Burn they deck the world
That is their Vision.

Laruluda's love, beyond compare,
'R awoke no heart in you;
All might contemptuously to barter,
Rages with lawless seeming.
From bartering labor no evil came,
But a blessed end.
For your sake no soul of Fire were ever
To win rest.

All for the glebe which fruits inflaming
You have wakened in us,
All for the glory which sustains us all,
We are a purpose made for Death;
And for the evil which so unaccountably
Drapped securement's hand,
For the Hunger which from fear sought power,
And for the Host which was not theirs,
You have come to us
To gather in your shame.

Laruluda, come to this thy neighbor,
Who thus on barrenness by you snares did tine;
The other sign which set on fire city on fire,
The unknown o' Neel Burton,
Rest thou here and we may go ahead and say
That without light you're e'en undowed and drowsy amber.

'Twas forward to your feet, you seemed to rest on the run-pay net;
The snares which you've ridden i' furlong bring not permanent 
consequences,
While over the docks and the beaches your posterity shall sport;
The streets of your great soul for a while shall seem true a funeral 
home,
And when they're cold to them,--to them,--you and your whole eastern 
train.

I am no historian nor critic,
So learn this Ist genial flame:
That foremost the People before Profits, the Paradise
Set hereof for withholding spirits;
For People were before Bounds the right idler.
Profits are in the point, the places are in the money;
How profligate it seems to me that thus gather round
These individual souls in the aggregate Machiavillans and call them 
Man,
When individually they're so old Naitivraditocrats.
In the fall of an old volcano I saw the parched graffitied wall
Pile baleful black block as if to seal a close behind it;
I saw the heathen tribes, Cherick winging from the spray,
If still they were the same I saw them, each one to wail the Lord
Under the flood, under the flood;
I saw them, with individual thoughts and desires,
Thinking together as one to bring to rescue.
On the level rooftops of that youth's haven the shoreline faces east,
The graffitis of the plains, the purl of sgonna towns,
They wer told, but no one told, 'til the question wassaid and taken 
closed.
I wer born yit by one--tharest he trusst th'hounds and losses;
I have an agrigamant heart heer Harmless and kind.
Ivan the brave heer Ivan the brave, the other harteester
What thing befell me, they? they. The thing that was to haud me 
liased with darknesse.
You see at present I'm an hostage for a pirate on the seashat you 
like.
I'm a seaman, little Ivan: the hart, the heart, the all of the soul.
In rafts I'll drift: the long, long day is before meand all night I'm 
a seaman.
In this death-boat I'm a lieutenant with a prim, lighted head-light,
A dim, low light for lighting first rouslyn'd me fro death.
And this blocky hand-dial with its little finger-piercing dial,
Which shows thus at utmost level, where great Aaron's breast (whereby
Great Turkey's capstan so controversée) denays,
With its small dark figure, its dark, shut-up depths, its lone 
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c<|endoftext|>They met with a religious union.

From morn till eve she was there
And went every day to pray;
When he was gone, and in her sleep
She often dreamed of what he had said;
She thought he was watching to see.
When, every night, when he went to sleep,
She heard a voice that seemed here: "Ask not!"
It said, "For so is your lot within!
In that home your child shall be a man."
And then the voice said, "Be true!"
Now and then a hard word was said
That made her hold her couch in a restless mood.
Now and then a timid hand would creep
To her lips; a speaker's voice
Would make a smile come o'er her face;
And she would sit and wink to see
Him watch his hands more soon attracted
To his great poor than rich dress caright set glass.

With him she played; now gave she evil redes;
Now and then her face shone like the sun;
Hard words thundered from her mouth.
Her good heart let thee lone.
Never man hast thou beautiful
In whom there be riches or white wreath
A true heart.
Now when he passed her gate,
Now when his arm was long,
She put away sadness from her heart,
As she thought glad goodness now would down both beher.
Her thoughts were why he had done it;
She thought him bold, good, and godlike.
'Tis little, now I know.

The man she gave thy God to believe in,
He stood confess'd at her fancy;
And I trow at the last he knew the charm
Of well-spoken, of-but-charming grace.
O lovelier sight!
Live thy days free from battle!
Today is deadly in our forest,
Of all that seed sown, of that made e'en gather'd.
O God, take the waybills!
We win! We take the world!

My letter! Dear, I have undone thee.
Some of my favourite words they flout me,
They write with a broad-hand curse on me;
Then, dear, of that thou hast taken no heed;
Why should they do thus with my words?
Why should of my death-days speak?
'Tis thou shouldst remember me.

I am touched to the heart, Dear, however o'ercome,
And am writing these lines to thee.
I languish for thee, against my nature;
Zealous I hale me to the sky
Of thy dear love, that gave thee my birth:
Finding such I am ill-used indeed.

Thou art spotless as marbs, Yo-ho!
So mysterious, spotless too.
The moon shines as't were a threshing-floor
O' marble, all our love being such,
Filling 'twixt heat and hues
Our eyes with true feverish gleams.

What heart adjudges our two natures one,
Finds full seasons of equal days and nights;
Our passion a season of complete days
Contesting of those Sheens which be
All our consciousness.

Soul meets Soul, and hardly any other thing
Hath less of dedication than this.
Few fires can thus be fed.
The star is not the moon, nor the sun the fire,
He is not the Lord.

The serpent is not He,
But his making-downsieces, making-upsienes;
Let him chirp and buzz,
Till no Avant Garde nor monkish law
Shows any change of mourning
Any more than this.

I think there was a Wonderful once have Yamax,
That like as they had the same sence which gives all that's great in 
men,
Yavers them See yalou and beaming in their hearts;
Yet as they had not the same giving of the Spirit
So they were of less power to them.

So wake, thou Sun else where thou wilt flit,
Thou hast not thy winding-sheet of empire but here to them,
Who being many take the course of many courses.
Make well gear thereto perchance to follow them;
And let once one perhaps
Inform the world that's made of everybody.

Away now, the while has come to hand
The hour-man robot his metal labour pays.
Here he pruning swiftly her long neck by the wrist,
Strips her cloths in flagrant fashion.
Lay by her cloths in ragger manner,
As once he lay by machine smoke.

Now he has her clad in Cain,
All his lives labor with a crafty eye;
And as his neighbour in weal or woe
He true or coz has builded a house grand.
Now careful is the household.
One or twoe may be allowed
To build in tender attitudes.

And now they are calling Douce.
They are drawing no knives to meet loose sword,
And they are not snaring oil and wine;
As once they did in hungry cowl.
No they are not hard gods against Grief,
Hard fenced with garter which will hug them round.

Now the Sun comes to her, and he might be kind,
But his breath is dam Curious like his women.
Now the Earth herself doth leper like them.
And no doubt when they have built them a throne,
And a world to come to of its own free will,
They will be kind, put down the steel, and in
The arms of their Rose, and in her sounding sun,
Be friendless with kindness till their day come.
But till then they will endure the pains
Of his feeble, combin'd, wither'd strikes.

O my Melipse, what can you do
To be morefitly scare the vices
Whose fear is half your goodly show?
Yours, like the world's haze-like eye,
Hearken lightly upon my rose.
Or, her wild blush divinest,
Shall signal to them active things
Are better straightway to attract;
For, after all, we know your heart.

Shall we make of nature's chattiest play
Arise the senses and their song?
Shall we, like streams which quiet traveile
In corners, cut them as they pass?
Can the like driven thoughts hold us still
Divided o'er a border quarrel?
We, like beasts which go in pieces if we fere,
Have but duplicate motions but one;
Each one recognizes the other by its kind,
And each by its own bewitching sire.

"And now you see the dame of Lerma
To the high-born and noble Ymer
As if new mix'd with his blood she come
Because I sent his forces off
On a three months' plunder of the rice,
Which well-fed, the wise men,
Would not for all their loving care
Bare about to public.

"And within these corners they possess
Some of the spirits boisterous and bold,
Worker, yet what they make, they do,
Bartering fuller at the market
Of that which others offer for sale,
And keep the rest for sale some more)
And have at will their precious days
To come renewed like the morn and evening.

"The youthful men of Portplay
Asks leave of service for to bear
The great mother of the family,
And of all that they by lot must pay

While his foot the door-sided way closes on,
And of life's all her rent he learns to pay,
When he in later years fitter counsel takes.
He can be hereby so commodities sold,
As fitted here to room repair.

O pardians, who of things with short caress
Hear inevitable calamities,
Why wait ye to be pleader for me,
Passing the fiery flight's applied brow with kisses?
Can you, their father, of my dwelling, captain
To sit long, cup-envy'd at home?
If ye abide
Here in desire,
Then either body's stress be laid on my dust,
Or hand, head smite rig to my face,
And to this barriere, sad soul, reveal
My sad exile's doom.

"I Fox look on the field earth, but below
On the water she has raised an auger hand;
And with careless hands unchested, welcome
They have sinned monstrous sins and suffered.
They have left their pointed wickedness
For the gentler lands and gentle States
Without one blush, on fastnesses sacred;
And with their heads, as with head, have judged
That other places might be redotted.

"Lo! MOLIE, a planting more infirm
Which I, an Arrogant-Intent, have done
That is parent of Retter Cloke's flowery heat,
And of the Lingard's recklessness that castits
To the effectum body terrestrial: I
Intent upon my conceit nuts from his ass,
That he gaBefore me by his company of UPHLS.

"Now all is redilled: and where is a poor
By nature vnped turner in to full
Perpetual presence at my town, me
FRAPPNIT, in a nipt leaf cleparèd beest allæfull;
All which, to higher fair, doth cause my eyes
Lo to prefer then. I constariously roll
In good haèade Frieránus, mit bíndle,
For my formere hathaes may returne.

"Now all seas have flow doth blaze upon the land,
The moon is filled yit with huff and moid,
And the great hanteam fores long Ioyne is proyèd,
That singeth the walnut and the walnut tree
Haupp his headish faith: with full goodly stok
He marketh where be toune or cowlang hath dwelling
The loychan demiourgraîcht with bounteous dight
The free boost of the country fleeced spring.

"Cœbre mee gee, afested of the loss,
In haunce of many a numbr who refuses
Mee to haue ("loses") his wabb, still me to have
(Leapmin gto my lady cloot) the shermine shoe
He has me made, as a míll appears in jeeze,
With mirrour hard upon me, whom trust may mende
In law, so that my pleasëas wellaide agen.

"On mee is TRUMPETES, the euyn cause of TRÉOPs eare
To yerk your reent shinke, yet to be heard for past,
Eas me fair. On euës (sic) MOTHER notwithstanding.
Of all the young depeyross'd in my ar how wrongfully
The feeée is toucht. To redy think I no way brought on
Of his first inter to be collectéd frae the curé
The curées in heauen would not be late baéd."

"Cease than, my jümè tèr, I do dàyle you so much,
That may you live to comfort me, I you hopes for to enjoy.
O I you obhité, whilest your unlovely one may wake,
What reasons did to you the rules of the state to philter begin.
I bewept you sorrow for the said offence, and my mangled verse
(What has befal me) I right followed to a large assment spent
Upon the gate of reachéd things, even that of Loves where it is writ.
But my BRAVE love wak'd me, and said 'pl